


Between Now and Forever

by isisyaoi



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Complete, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, HEA, Heartache, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isisyaoi/pseuds/isisyaoi
Summary: He thought his life as a bachelor was his livelihood.Believing his arranged marriage to be only a marriage of law, the Maou steels his heart to the Mazoku prince arranged to be his male consort. But the Maou has never known the pure haven of a true love’s arms, until Wolfram von Bielefelt, who gradually becomes his weakness, his desire—his everything. Will he allow his heart to open to the spell of true love?The Maou and his human counterpart, Yuuri Shibuya have stolen Wolfram’s heart, so much so, Wolfram finds himself suddenly willing to give anything for a touch of his betrothed’s passion, his embrace and possibly his love. But what price does Wolfram have to pay to gain the love of someone who, he thinks, does not love him?
Relationships: Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri
Comments: 50
Kudos: 158





	1. A Letter from the Author

A Letter from the Author

  
Hello again Readers,

Like all writers, comments and reviews boost our confidence, so thank you to all those who took the time to review my first story.

This second story, as always, was inspired by my love of historical romance, yet I'm basing just the essence (not the setting) of the plot inspired by a real life historical period that existed a long time ago.

 **Brief Historical Fact** : In 1920s provincial Mexico rich countesses or daughters from good family were expected to marry very respectable suitors of high society to elevate their family’s status, gain wealth or acquire land. Financial ruin or bankruptcy were major fears by the high society families and, thus, many women were pressured to get married immediately in an attempt to avoid scandal; which was very important at that time because the wrong kind of rumors sullied the reputation of any high society family name. And, thus, arranged marriages were common and the young women were trained in etiquette at a young age. Unlike men, they were given an illusioned idea of a happy marriage, loyal husband and family and because of this, many girls remained blind to the true face of law marriages. 

  
With this in mind, the Wolfram von Bielefelt in this story will have that similar innocent and illusioned thoughts of marriage as well. (For now. As the story progresses you will notice change.)

**DISCLAIMER** : This is **NOT** a sequel to any of my previous KKM fanfics I’ve written. Though, I will be using the same original character I created for it, Alan Alberic of Irrison—think of it as the same actor playing a different role for a different movie. His role in this story will be very brief, though, so don't expect too much out of him.

  
***Note*** This is a minimal Alternate Universe. In this story Wolfram is the only one among his family to be born Mazoku but without Majutsu powers. **

Please continue to support my works and look forward to yet another Kyo Kara Maoh! story starting sometime next week. Stay safe everyone and enjoy!


	2. Chapter One: Arrival

Chapter One: Arrival

The air was cool and fresh as Wolfram inhaled the sweet smell of the March season. The morning wasn’t grey as he expected, but a soft, clear lavender color.

A carriage creaked softly on the pebbled dirt road through the early morning mist. Wolfram looked back, one last time at the land where he’d spent his eighteen years. He recalled the sight of his mother’s smiling face, his brothers waving goodbye, the assembled servants and the familiar shape of his small castle home. He turned his back on it with a sigh, praying for strength and resilience, and by the time the sun rose high overhead he was a silent wreck of anxiety and nerves.

In all his life he’d never traveled away from his homeland longer than a few weeks.

As the youngest of three Mazoku brothers, he alone was born without _majutsu_ (demon magic). A rare affliction among the demon kingdom that did not allow him much freedom beside roaming his family estate and nearby towns. While his brothers trained him in the arts of weaponry and other things a well-trained soldier ought to know, Wolfram was schooled inside the walls of his home, his knowledge limited only by the teachings taught to him by books or tutors.

“Majutsu or without, learning to fight is an essential skill to every Mazoku,” he recalled his brothers telling him repeatedly. This gave him confidence and he was grateful because it had helped to devote himself to it over the years.

And now, what was expected of him—to live one year with his betrothed at Covenant Castle and then marry him was just another responsibility that seemed all too real. Too sudden. 

As a child, Wolfram expected romance and poetry out of life, or a great earth quaking love like the love stories his mother would beguile him before bed. Yet as the years passed, Wolfram came to know such things were not gifted upon so easily. Reality, like today, was this marriage, arranged for political reasons, with a man he had never met. But…if he and his betrothed could learn to live together with mutual tolerance, then perhaps Wolfram would be satisfied.

At least that was the hopeful wish he kept repeating to himself since the day he learned he would be affianced to the great Demon King.

“My Prince?” The soft voice penetrated Wolfram’s self-pity and he lifted his head to look out onto old man Phillipe’s pale blue eyes, weary from age. “Are you well?”

Wolfram couldn’t help a tiny inward moan of despair. His bottom ached and the rough creaking and swaying of the carriage made it uncomfortable and impossible to sleep the journey away. He cast a nervous glance to the Maou’s escorts framing the carriage on both sides. They were not out of ear shot, just enough respectable distance, yet close enough to ready themselves should anything happen on the highway.

Old man Phillipe was the only one familiar to Wolfram and the house of Bielefelt. Wolfram recalled the old coachman in his prime days, when Wolfram was a young tot of five. He’d play with Phillipe on the castle’s inner bailey while the man cleaned the carriage. Phillipe would even let Wolfram sit on his lap and even hold the reins as they rode circles on the castle’s garden, laughing the evenings away. That was many, many years ago…

Wolfram sighed, then gave the weary old servant a brief smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“It shan’t be long now,” Phillipe reassured him with gentle pity in his eyes. “We’ll be there soon.”

And, sure enough, the dirt pathway gradually paved to a long stone winding road and the endless view of thick wild woods and hills converted to a large bustling town. The sounds of smiths beating swords and breastplates into shape, vendors of both fruits and vegetables of the season catered the edges of the roads. People of all ages flocked the streets, gathering around the stalls selling home-made trinkets, goat cheeses, baked goods, pot plants and herbs. It was the start of market day, and Wolfram already felt his spirits lift as the smiling villagers waved at him or pointed at his direction with piqued interest.

“It’s the King’s bride,” they whispered softly, as the carriage passed. “He’s waving back! Come see!”

Wolfram’s waving lessened and his smile gradually faded as the landscape began to overlook a grandeur stone castle just up ahead. Wolfram managed to control his panic as the carriage pulled up outside the front gates of Covenant Castle. He hopped out, taking a man’s offered hand, too intent to be out of the carriage to look at him. He looked up when that man introduced himself with a bright smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, Prince Bielefelt,” he said, bowing respectfully and adjusting his glasses. “I am the Demon King’s right hand and personal adviser, Murata Ken. And I’ll be taking you the rest of the way from here.”

“Thank you.”

Murata motioned to a man behind him, and he began quick work unloading the prince’s trunks and bags from the back of the carriage.

“I’m sure you can ride a horse,” Murata said, already handing the reins of a brown stallion to Wolfram. Nodding, Wolfram petted the gentle animal before mounting it with ease.

“Now, listen, my Prince,” Phillipe said nearing the blonde as Wolfram turned and looked down at him expectantly. “If you be of need of anything your family has informed me you need only ask. And I’ll come straight here and collect you—we are not as far as the journey seemed.”

Wolfram’s heart warmed at the concern yet forced himself to pacify his emotions and voice. Old man Phillipe was always too tender-hearted with him. His whole family always was. “Thank you.” 

Phillipe then cleared his throat softly, forcing Murata’s head to turn as the old man respectfully took off his coachman’s hat, holding it tight to his chest as he bowed at him briefly.

“Please, I ask only that our Prince is looked after, you Eminence.”

“He will,” was all Murata said before he turned his own horse to wait near the gates.

Wolfram took hold of the old man’s hand, squeezing it briefly and let go just in time as the gates opened wide. Wolfram straightened his back, held his head high and gripped the reins tight.

 _I’m ready_ , Wolfram encouraged himself. _I’m ready to meet what fate has brought to me._

**~*~**

Cased in by four soldiers, two on each side, he and Murata marched into the fortified structure of the estate. The bustling town they had passed did not compare to the castle towns in the inner wall as Murata took lead, heading into the direction of the main keep.

Here, they were surrounded by beautiful settlements of over thirty traditional, Japanese houses and colorful bath house buildings, all built of strong wood. A few well-preserved temples and shrines with hills, hedges and curving stone paths and gardens, maintaining a landscape that was harmonious to its surrounding mountains.

The main keep and castle was truly the crown of the landscape, with four tall stone towers, metal iron gates and bold grey stone walls built for defense in an age that was defined by love of power as much as honor, nobility and loyalty to the crown.

So, this was Covenant Castle.

How quickly the dread and fear left Wolfram as he dismounted his horse, charmed by all the grandeur. He could see himself live this version of freedom compared to the sheltered years he had spent at home. It was a charmed and happy life but, perhaps deep in his heart Wolfram longed for excitement and experience of something more.

“This way, please, prince Bielefelt.”

Wolfram followed Murata as the soldiers posted outside the doors bowed to them. Then, they opened the large double doors and he and Murata marched inside the castle hall. Overhead, the ceiling arched beautifully, the glass windows shimmering in the morning sun, casting rays of light patterns in the air in the resonant space. Colorful tapestries lined the firm walls, the window frames tall and strong, and the furniture all meticulously hand carved, framed with unique soft velvet pillows and the grand hallway leading to the carpeted throne. It was truly a magnificent sight, worthy of a King.

But, wait, where was everyone? There had to be soldiers or more guards than the four who came along the journey with him. Surely with a castle this magnanimous there should be waiters or butlers? The maids? Squire boys?

Though meticulously clean, the castle was empty of the usual sounds and morning bustle of castle staff, causing Wolfram’s boots to echo on the stone floors. The castle lacked the luxury of any sort of company.

Odd.

Wolfram noted a man sitting on the throne, richly garbed in velvet black and his walking pace lessened the closer he approached. He stopped just as Murata bowed briefly to the said man; Wolfram merely stared. He could not help himself. The man before him was magnificent.

Wolfram let his eyes slide over wide powerful, bare shoulders, up the long, refined neck, to his handsome face and curled shoulder-length black hair. Well-sculpted hard chest and thin waist and delicious olive-skin. Wolfram’s pulse quickened the more he looked.

Oh, god.

 _I must have him_ , Wolfram thought in raw excitement and greedy desire that he never felt before. The need was born in him in an instant. A hunger so strong only possession could appease him. His king was tall and strongly made, with muscular long legs that promised grace and great speed for thrusting behind Wolfram’s—

Wolfram cleared his throat inwardly, not looking away as the Maou stood, so proud in his bearing Wolfram could believe him born of royalty, as well. The king was not like the men Wolfram grew up with in his small kingdom. This man was clearly of Mazoku descent, yes, but he was also half human. (A fact Wolfram was only told once he accepted to be affianced to the King and made to promise to preserve this fact with the utmost discretion.) Though Wolfram has been told the King’s demonic side controls over his human side more frequently. Growing up, his lack of majutsu has made him unprejudiced, so the human part of this man never mattered much to him in the first place. Wolfram was sure he could like both sides equally, if given the chance.

Having never known the body of a man before, Wolfram now truly believed he would not mind being taken and claimed by this person.

~*~

Yuuri watched the blonde prince bow timidly before him. He was truly a marvelous thing to behold. The kingdom had its share of humans and demons alike, yet he catered more to the latter, so a human in his land was not permitted so frequently and so Yuuri was used to the occasional fey woman or man.

This Wolfram von Bielefelt was slim and delicately boned, skin a marbled wonder, radiating softness to the touch. And that hair of gold locks, not to mention those big, twin jaded jewels for eyes. If he had first seen this prince at night, in a distant silver-mooned glade, he would have mistaken him for one of those part-fairy, part-elf said to live wild in the darkling forests—like those enchantresses in the human books his human mother used to read to him as a child.

And he wondered, as he had the past few months, if this arrangement mattered that much. Can they truly expect him to share his kingdom, bind himself in marriage to another?

The blonde prince may be true, brave and loyal—an essential virtue of the boy, as Sir Gwendal had written in the scroll of their contract. He, like the prince’s mother, agreed on giving the prince to him—to unite their kingdoms--in the condition the Demon King and staff remain courteous, respectful and thoughtful, due to the fact the Mazoku was born without majutsu, to which he agreed.

Yuuri looked down at Wolfram’s green eyes, who looked up at him in wonder. _A Mazoku without Majutsu powers…_

Like a human. Just like him.

The Maou scoffed, inwardly, interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts and quickly banished his human counterpart away. Instead, the demon King decided to amuse himself with his…arranged fiancée.

“Do you sing, little prince?” the Maou asked, his voice ringing with obligated politeness.

The blonde blinked, seemingly unaccustomed to such forwardness. He looked around as if wondering for a moment on how to answer because the question commonly inclined more toward a woman rather than a man.

“Nay, my lord, a sweet voice is a gift I’ve not been blessed with.”

“What gifts _are_ you blessed with then, pray tell,” the Maou asked as though he was genuinely curious. The amused smirk on his lips clearly said otherwise. Before Wolfram could answer, another question was added. “Are you truly capable of running an earldom?”

“I’m trained to govern a kingdom, yes, and trained in sword and combat and—”

“Good, because I’ve no need of a starry-eyed person who is helpless or needy.”

The Maou motioned for Wolfram with a finger, wordlessly ordering the blonde to him.

~*~

The King’s words, so dismissive and cold were quickly forgotten as Wolfram’s stomach jolted to his chest before approaching the King slowly. And taking the Maou’s offered hand, he looked up into those liquid black eyes who gazed at his own pools of green with such unperturbed attention Wolfram prayed his legs wouldn’t buckle.

“Keeping you would be an expensive proposition,” the Maou murmured, absentmindedly rubbing Wolfram’s palm with a rough pad of his thumb.

“I wouldn’t cost so much,” Wolfram protested softly--doing his best to ignore the connection of their hands touching. The warmth of it, the hard pads of male fingers. Like touching fire. Wolfram was sure his cheeks burned red.

The Maou gave him a skeptical smirk. “The price for your hair alone would leave me a beggar, wife.”

The word “wife” uttered in that low tone made Wolfram feel as if he had swallowed a spoonful of sugar. And that soft, low, sultry sound of his voice when he said it…oh, god.

“I’ll make up for it,” the prince replied, slowly gulping a mouthful of saliva.

Smiling, the Maou reached and pulled the blonde closer to him. “I know you will.” His hands ran lightly over the prince’s sides, lingering just beneath is arms, the heels of the Maou’s hands brushing against Wolfram’s chest.

This close, the scent of the Maou, his olive-colored skin made Wolfram swallow hard.

For an instant, Wolfram dared to believe he felt an energy of _something_ pass between them. It was a “something” that brought hope to his doubts and fears that perhaps, this union was right all along. That everything would work out all right, for once in his life. And that their flaws would bring them together like he hoped. Yet, once the Maou spoke again, the words were not what he expected to hear.

“You’ll work in the bathhouse.”

Wolfram blinked once, then twice, the spell of the moment quickly bursting like bubble. “Pardon me?”

“I’m still in deep thought of our future--there’s much I have yet to think about,” the Maou said, letting Wolfram’s hand go and looking at him with a lethargic expression. “We have one full year together to know one another before our wedding day, but your arrival came sooner than I thought. And seeing that you came in our busiest time of the year, you’ll not see me as often as we’d both like,” he continued.

Murata looked up then, keeping his expression passive at all the obvious lies Yuuri was flinging at his fiancée. He watched as he led a bewildered prince Wolfram in his direction by the firm grasp on his shoulders.

“For the time being, I’ll leave you in Murata’s care. He’ll show you the workings around here, which is good because this way you’ll get to familiarize yourself with everything, including the staff. A good start for the future wife of mine, isn’t it?”

Then, turning to Murata the Maou gave his order. “See to it.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He left Murata and Wolfram there as Yuuri turned around, disappearing to the nearest door of the room.

**~*~**

“You don’t look put out by His Majesty’s task for you,” Murata observed, noting the calm and cheerful look Wolfram went about eating the lunch that Murata had ordered to be sent up for him. “As his fiancée, are you truly so accepting of his decision?”

Murata couldn’t help but ask. He had picked up the prince’s discarded trunks off the floor, opened them, went to the wooden wardrobe, and was busying himself putting all the prince’s kimonos, uniforms and nighties inside them. Never having done this for someone else, this act shocked Murata. Yet it came so naturally to do this for the prince, though he did not know why.

A part him convinced himself it was his way of getting the prince to trust him. Though, he could right away tell how there was no need, the blonde Mazoku seemed to easily trust anyway. Sadly, a fact proving it was obvious the prince did not have many friends.

“It was unexpected, but he doesn’t know me,” Wolfram reasoned before taking a bite of the fried shrimp, then eating a little rice and having a sip of his soup straight from the bowl. “We were both thrown into this arrangement, so I can understand why he doesn’t want me near.”

 _That’s not the only reason_ , Murata thought, but decided not to voice it--at least, not yet.

“If I may be so bold,” Murata ventured, trying to learn what he could from the Mazoku thrusted into his care. “I expected you’d protest to the winds—I mean to say, any Mazoku of high status would berate the idea of playing housekeeper.”

“Perhaps, but I’m no stranger to it.” Wolfram shrugged, reaching for some pickled vegetables. “Back home, I helped my brothers clean the stables, and sometimes brush the horses.”

 _That is not the same as manual labor_ , Murata thought.

“And maybe being a bit distant from each other, for now, is a good idea. It would not be such a challenge to make him like me,” Wolfram said, reassuringly.

Murata turned to look at Wolfram in shock. _Is he serious?_ he thought incredulously _. He’s either too sweet or too naïve—or both! And more!_

“Listen, Prince Bielefelt,” said Murata, closing the wardrobe and straightening his glasses. “His Majesty has never been one to take a male, let alone marry one.”

“Neither have I,” Wolfram intervened, the sudden confession making the blonde blush once Murata smiled at him in amusement.

“Also, he’s never been fond of humans either.”

“But I’m not a human, I’m Mazoku—”

“I know that,” Murata cleared. “And he does, too, but the fact is you have no majutsu--”

“Like a human?”

Murata paused.

Wolfram’s cheerfulness was gone, but continued to eat, though, less enthusiastically than before. “That’s one thing we have in common, then.” Wolfram turned to look at him. “I’ll start there.”

Murata turned, marching to the door. “I’ll let you finish your lunch and rest for today. Tomorrow, I’ll wait for you outside the door to get you started on your duties.”

Wolfram sat there, a sigh escaping his lips once the doors closed. He knew by everything Murata had told him to not remain hopeful, but his heart said otherwise.

 _Perhaps, Murata’s wrong_ , he thought, forcing a small smile. He went to the mirror and looked himself over, brushing his soft, short curls with renewed will. _Perhaps I will make the difference._

~*~

Long, dark hair skimming the width of Murata’s back and with a finely sculpted body that radiated constant exercise and a healthy body. Only a few inches or two taller than Wolfram. He smelled of pine, and wore eloquent tunics and robes of deep rich, colors and black length pants held by a black obi that fitted him perfectly on two strong legs, the light colors of his robes contrasting well against the sun-touched hue of his skin.

Th man known to all as the demon King’s right hand was clearly human, his presence and air of confidence the only Mazoku trait he seemed to possess. Yet, Wolfram noticed that unlike the rest of the staff, he was treated with a mild neglect. No one spoke to him unless it was about a certain task or chore which he personally saw was completed to perfection. His position within the bath house was everywhere, from running the stables, ordering furniture, managing the staff to the routine of cleaning the rooms or dusting the futons.

Today, Murata was Wolfram’s guide to his future duties in the main bath house.

“The castle is set apart from the rest of the pubic bath-houses: the outer wall _Ryokans_ cater to the village and those of distant neighboring towns, along with occasional travelers. You, as the king’s fiancée will not be allowed inside any public communal bath house without an escort and consent from his Majesty.

“The baths inside the inner walls are built for the nobility and those of higher status—like lords and such. The luxury, privacy and isolation of these individual baths are given at a higher price than those of lower rank. Guests here enjoy royal service, meals and alcoholic drinks. Unlike the public baths at the towns and village, decorum and etiquette are a strict rule here. Guests are expected to be conservative, proper and virtuous, so you need not worry of seeing more than you care to see, unless you’re working as a personal bath-maid,” Murata added, as Wolfram continued dashing to a run to keep up with the man’s long strides.

Awkwardly tying his apron around his waist, Wolfram looked up at him at the word “bath maid,” yet before he could ask about it to reassure himself what the meaning truly meant, Murata gently pushed him inside the main bath house.

A grand structure built generously spacious with high end furniture, expensive rugs, and hand-carved furniture, as well. And a personal _banto_ (bath attendant) to every guest. And the guests weren’t many, considering this building looked to have over thirty private baths.

“Not many can afford a private bath and service here, so guests are limited, depending on the season,” Murata explained, as if reading Wolfram’s mind. The male attendants at the door were already placing their outdoor shoes in cubbies before bowing courteously.

“This is where you’ll be working.” Murata led Wolfram to an enclosed private bath not in use, with a very spacious tub, bamboo walls, and the stone flooring was well clean.

“As you know, cleanliness is the most important aspect in any bath house in the land.”

Wolfram nodded, quietly agreeing to every word.

“Keeping everything clean and tidy is expected each time for a new or a regular guest at any given time.

“Your duties will be minimal and not as laborious; should an event where a room should be clean to an extended degree a servant of low rank will be called upon, so don’t worry,” he said, an amused smile on his lips as he looked at Wolfram’s wide green eyes. He placed his hand hard on Wolfram’s shoulder, patting it a few times for reassurance. “You are and will remain His Majesty’s fiancée during your stay here, and I will personally evoke this fact to every employee. I’m sure your time working here will be temporary, so let us amuse His Majesty for the time being, hm?”

Wolfram nodded again, his cheeks turning red as Murata began to undress, leaving only his pants. Murata gently folded his opulent robe with gold intricate design and left it in a nearby wooden chair, before placing his hands on his hips and turning to look at the blonde with that never-ending amused smile Wolfram was beginning to know him by.

“You’re the first lucky one—I’ll show you myself what you need to do, afterward you will be expected to do this on your own, all right?”

Wolfram felt like a fool, nodding to everything the man told him, but this was a first for him, too. And he couldn’t help being flustered by everything that had happened all of today: leaving home and expected to stay here for a year, meeting his devilishly handsome future husband, doing housework in the bath house and seeing this man half-naked…

All of it made him feel like a bewildered and lost child who had no idea of the intricate wiles of the world. Yet, through it all, Murata was patient, meticulously graceful with every task he showed Wolfram to do from collecting bath towels and where to place them for the other servants to wash, showing him how to keep the bath stock room full of the necessary essentials every guest will need. His duties also included making sure all kitchen drinkware was properly collected and set up for the next set of guests. He would not be allowed to have any personal contact with the guests, and Wolfram preferred it that way.

~*~

It was true, Wolfram did not see the King at all as the days flew by. He ate breakfast alone in his room at the castle, and every now and then he’d acknowledge the staff who worked the baths and the kitchens. They were all kind and friendly, yet knowing he was their King’s fiancée kept them at a respectable distance and so they did not talk much with him. Having known few people in his life, Wolfram was used to the mild neglect. And that was one of the reasons why he busied himself learning his duties quickly. He hated the thought of repeatedly asking Murata to remind him what his duties would be. He would not humiliate himself that way. He will not be thought of as weak or unreliable.

By noon, Wolfram already placed a routine in which he followed in cleaning the private baths, once guests left, of course.

Yet what concerned Murata at times, was that he would often see the prince engaged in unnecessary chores, even though Murata promised Wolfram was to be kept from hard labor. He’d notice the blonde would invade a room and Murata would catch the prince lending a hand here and there. When asked why, the blonde would simply say, “I don’t mind. I’ve nothing else to do…”

This gave Murata pause. Thinking it was the prince’s loneliness that had him behave like this. It was never the intention for the Mazoku to become a lowly servant. A position so demeaning and insulting for a high born Mazoku. And even more importantly, to one who was the demon king’s fiancée.

Murata frowned. Something had to be done.

~*~

Wolfram learned that His Majesty preferred the living quarters inside the main bath house “to keep an eye on things.” The castle was unused for most of the year with exception of holidays and the new year. So, all the staff that originally resided in the castle and keep, including the guards, worked within the main bath house where the King resided. Though Murata had ensured minimal staff move back into the empty castle with Wolfram’s arrival.

“You are not to work duties that are already assigned to others, Bielefelt.” Murata warned him one evening as they walked the empty castle hall to their waiting dinner in the ballroom. 

Murata was kind enough to have dinner with Wolfram in the evenings which the prince was grateful for. Murata would have Wolfram eat dinner in different parts of the castle as a way for Wolfram to familiarize himself with the different rooms.

“I’m not to? Why--”

When Murata had led Wolfram to the central ballroom, the prince abandoned his argument as he set sights on the room. It was a glittering world of golden light and tall windows that reached the ceiling. The floor was a spacious marbled floor, perfect for dancing. Wolfram had never seen place decorated so extravagantly. Slowly, Wolfram wandered around the room.

“It’s beautiful,” he said as he turned in a slow circle. “The balls held here must be extraordinary. I’ve only ever attended local festivals, or the town dances my brothers were occasionally invited to.”

Wolfram was lost in his verbal thoughts, forgetting the presence of the man who watched him.

“All of my life I’ve been responsible, and I pledged myself to the service of whatever fate had in store for me. Convincing myself to be content with family and friends, and the lifestyle I’ve been gifted with during my childhood years. Coming here, I had hoped I would finally experience all that I have missed.” He turned to face Murata and added softly, “And that the person who would show me all this would be my husband.”

A pause.

“Prince Bielefelt,” Murata cleared his throat, ignoring the rise of his heart in his throat, threatening to obstruct his voice over the Mazoku’s tender confession. It sounded so sincere, so hopeful and full of longing. “I’ve never encountered someone like you.”

“Thank you,” Wolfram said, feeling his cheeks grow warm. And already regretting how much he had said to this man, showing his vulnerable side. Murata seemed to sense this, and so he made quick work of changing the air of the conversation to more pressing matters.

“Let’s start dinner, hm?” Murata motioned to the round table in the center of the room, just as two servants came in carrying two plates covered in gold dome lid. Wolfram smiled weakly, letting Murata settle him on one of the velvet-covered armchairs and they waited in silence as their dinner was served.

Tonight’s dinner was grilled mackerel as the main dish, _nikujaga_ (meat and potato stew), and cucumber salad as side dishes. Miso soup and _genmai_ (brown rice) were also served along with other dishes. And for dessert, _Goma_ dango (small sesame seed balls with sweet red bean filling on the inside that are deep fried). As always, the food here did not disappoint Wolfram since his stay here.

They both bowed their head in silent grace before they began their meal. Murata waited for a bit before beginning a conversation.

“I never had the chance to ask you of your stay at the castle. Are you comfortable here?”

Wolfram thought of the lonely nights in his castle room. The cold night air, and the winds whistling through the trees bringing horrid wails to his room. Wolfram shivered at the memory of it.

“It’s all good,” he said politely. “Just a bit…um…”

“Lonesome? That’s not good,” Murata said, dabbing his lips with the dinner napkin. “I’ll see to it that my things be brought from the bath house into a guest room here, immediately.”

Wolfram perked up, almost dropping his spoon. “That’s not necessary, sir."

“I want to, and I insist. And to occupy your mind on other things, besides chores,” Murata added. “That is, if you would let me—I can be your companion during your stay here.”

“Oh, yes,” came Wolfram quick reply, forgetting his embarrassment. “Please.”

“Wine?”

Wolfram nodded, having just finished his glass of cold water.

Murata filled Wolfram’s crystal goblet with white wine, then poured another for himself. He looked at the prince across from him, watching the Mazoku eat his daikon salad, and pickled vegetables.

Murata thought of Yuuri then. Keeping himself ignorant of Wolfram’s presence for a few days was understandable. But, for a week now? The young Mazoku had not inquired to see his betrothed. Whether it was to respect his King’s wishes or nerves or whatever reason, it couldn’t go on.

Taking a huge swallow of water, Murata gulped down his growing worries. He’ll have to think of a way of convincing Yuuri to see Wolfram. Maybe not the Maou, perhaps Yuuri’s human side would be more understanding and open. Perhaps.

~*~

It was a little past noon and the sun’s rays have begun to warm the day, the air was clear, and the spring winds blew nicely. The maids were bringing in the futons they had aired out that morning with mild chatter, glancing at Wolfram at times then silently bowing to him as they passed. Wolfram acknowledged them with a nod and quickly turned away picking up the stray glasses and wine rice bottles from one of the dining areas as the other servants cleaned the elegant _chabudai_ and _zaisu_.

And it was here that Wolfram hid himself in his thoughts whenever he could. Thoughts of his king. Wolfram tried to ignore how the Maou had affected him on their first meeting, what his nearness caused, but found it was impossible. Something Wolfram could not explain drew him to the man.

In the beginning he thought he could endure playing house, telling himself maybe his king needed to get over his nerves, just like him. He didn’t mind the chores, but what truly concerned him was that it has been so long since their last encounter that, Wolfram has begun to believe the King had no intention of marrying him at all.

And that frightened him most of all.

Many times, Wolfram fought the impulse to just leave Covenant castle and forget all about this marriage! Yet knowing if he did such a thing, his family name would be the shame of his homeland. People had rumored him to be human all his youth instead of Mazoku due to his lack of Majutsu. There was no town in Shin Makoku that knew of his arranged marriage to the Demon King. What would they say if he returned home?

It was in this tangle of thoughts that Murata entered the room, the sound of his familiar voice giving one of the servant girl’s instruction of other guests due to come, snapped Wolfram out of his thoughts.

He fought back his flustered self, wanting to appear calm and regal instead of the mess of nerves and meekness he truly was. He did not wish to humiliate himself in front of the man whom he had come to admire so. Though Murata’s position was also a servant employed by the King, he always wore an air of royal grace. His manner of walking, his friendly, polite but strict orders to anyone below his station demeaned a respect that was immediately given to him.

As Wolfram stared at Murata, he wondered what he lacked within himself to also acquire such immediate respect…

Wolfram looked away quickly as soon as Murata noticed him staring. His inward panic rose higher as Murata approached him, anyway, with an amused smile on his face, saying, “Everything in order, prince Bielefelt?”

Wolfram nodded, balancing the bottles and glasses on the tray in his arms at bit clumsily. His cheeks warm. “Yes, sir.”

“Murata.” The other corrected, adjusting his glasses.

They smiled knowingly at each other briefly. Due to Wolfram’s insistence, Murata allowed the prince free rein on Wolfram’s daily duties around the main bath house, yet he made sure to keep a watchful eye on the Mazoku at every opportune moment.

They had both formed a small friendship that they did not show around the staff to avoid the wrong kind of rumors. Only when they both retired to the castle did they spent their evenings chatting at the castle’s library over books they’ve read, strolling in silence around the gardens or simply enjoying each other’s company over dinner.

Murata had not many friends since his service to the King, and it was a long time ago that he had last seen his friend Shibuya due to the demon king’s constant rule over his human counterpart. So, being the blonde Mazoku’s companion had not been such a bad idea. Perhaps that was the reason he offered to be in the first place. For both their sakes. To thwart each other’s loneliness, he supposed. For Murata knew well about loneliness.

“Excuse me, Your Eminence.” Both men turned to one of the guards who, at that moment, appeared by the door. He bowed, acknowledging them both before speaking. “The King wishes to see his fiancée.”

 _Me?_ Wolfram thought, feeling his heart skip a beat. _After all this time?_

“Thank you for reminding me.” Murata answered, his smile not wavering as Wolfram looked at him, confused. “The prince will see his Majesty at once. You may leave.” 

“What’s this about?” Wolfram asked, as the guard left, but Murata did not answer him. Has the King decided to end their engagement? Was this the reason he wished to see Wolfram after all this time?

Murata had the other servant girl take the tray of drinkware from Wolfram then led him out of the room. Once inside the prince’s private chambers, Murata lifted the lids of the nearest chest, expecting pants or shoes. Instead it was full of books. Not scholar books, books meant to read for pleasure. He picked one up but soon was snatched from his hand. Wolfram looked down at him pouting.

“Anything in here you _haven’t_ read?” Murata asked with a small smile.

“Stop looking at my things,” Wolfram said, throwing the book back into the chest and closing it. “Now what is this about?”

“I convinced his Majesty to meet with you today.”

Wolfram felt more confused. He sighed, sitting heavily on the bed. “Why?”

“Do you not want to? I thought you’d be happy to see your future husband…alone.” Murata teased, walking to the wardrobe and skimming through the prince’s male clothing. Tunics and shirts and doublets in silk and satin and velvet and very few were jeweled and embroidered with gold.

“Look at this,” Murata said, pulling out a blouse of white, velvet lined with a rich green color. “This would look exquisite with a nice pair of black slacks and boots.”

“In truth, I feared he’d annulled our engagement,” Wolfram sighed, watching as Murata displayed the attire next to him on the bed. “If he had I wouldn’t have opposed, seeing how he’s neglected me so.”

“Well, now’s your chance to refresh both your feelings and memory of each other, ney?”

“Hmph.” Wolfram turned away, pouting, feigning to be upset than relieved. 

A wave of tender endearment and protectiveness Murata had not wanted to admit before crashed within him. Wolfram was a kind and gentle soul. An innocent with a stubbornness that made him charming…and fragile in his emotions. He would do his duty and ensure Wolfram had a chance of happiness in this marriage. In truth, he also wished to see his friend Yuuri truly happy as well. And perhaps knowing Wolfram a bit better, would melt the Maou’s cold heart after all these years alone. As Wolfram soften Murata’s own armored heart, in the short period he had known him.

A warm finger tucked under his chin, lifting Wolfram’s head to Murata who said softly, “Ashes remain where a fire once burned. I know you’ve not banished your feelings for the King so easily. Go to him and see what comes of it.”

“Perhaps,” Wolfram yielded; his downcast eyes glinted with a bit of renewed hope. “If I could be brave enough.”

Murata chuckled. “If you were any braver, you’d be a fire wielder.”

Wolfram smiled tenderly. “Thank you.”

Murata clapped a hand on Wolfram’s back. “Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry and get dressed.”

“Yes!”

Murata chuckled at the blonde’s sudden enthusiasm, closing the door just as Wolfram began to change.

**~*~**

Draping a thick cloak about his arms, Wolfram was led downstairs where Murata opened the back door leading to the garden. “This way.”

With a nod, he stepped outside. The evening winds blowing his hair with a hint of cool chill in the air. 

With a bow, Murata closed the door with a soft click. Wolfram rubbed his arms and anxiously tapped his boot on the garden pavement, barely able to contain his excitement, and hoping his nerves did not embarrass him. He was so lost in his enthusiasm; he didn’t notice Yuuri walking toward him.

~*~

It was as though the world had stopped, as he stared in hushed wonder. Wolfram von Bielfield was indeed a most beautiful creature. Pale soft skin flushed pink, shoulder-length golden locks glistening in moonlight. Yuuri could barely breathe, only stare in feverish worship. Wolfram was more breathtaking than he remembered when he first met him through the Maou’s eyes.

Composing himself, Yuuri walked slowly toward the Mazoku prince. He was nervous, but still he called out to him bravely.

“Wolfram…” he said under his breath, smiling shyly as Wolfram stared at him in wonder.

 _He looks different,_ Wolfram thought, before approaching him cautiously. Noticing brown eyes instead of dark ones. Shorter hair and a kind smile. A completely different person from the King he remembered in his first arrival. Yet, the human’s handsome features, that body that he ached to touch still made his heart pulse and his blood to burn with the same longing.

“Good evening, sir.”

Yuuri was taught at a young age that it was customary for him to give a kiss on the hand, as expected of someone from royalty. Especially to a future consort.

Wolfram’s cheeks blazed hot as Yuuri approached him, taking Wolfram’s hand and kissing it. The feel of those soft, heated lips on Wolfram’s skin, the sensation that ran through his body caused his knees to buckle lightly.

Now that he thought about it, the Maou made no such customary greeting. Or was it that Wolfram forgot about it?

“Come. Walk with me on the grounds?” Yuuri finally asked. “It’s a fine night for a stroll, is it not?”

Wolfram glanced out the garden path leading to the hills—the fine grass blowing gentle with the wind, the dark skies with pale moonlight. Yes, it did beckon him, a bit.

“On horseback?” Wolfram suggested, hopeful; for he had enough of carriages. He felt free and in control of both animal and the road while horse riding. A small sense of contentment he had long ago acquired in his sheltered youth.

Yuuri’s warm laughter, the smile and those beautiful brown eyes send a small quiver through him again. “Yes,” Yuuri agreed. “I was told you enjoy riding.”

Fighting the dangerous magic of this human’s charm was futile and Wolfram looked away with a slight blush. If Yuuri noticed, he thankfully did not voice it or show it. Instead, his human fiancée pulled Wolfram’s cloak from his arms, holding it long enough for Wolfram to slip inside its thick warmth.

Yuuri underestimated the energy the blonde displayed. He had to keep his horse a slight running pace just to catch up to the prince, not wanting to lose sight of him. All the while the moon beams above them gave little glitters of light on their steep, twisting forest path. The smell of the fallen leaves, crunching below the horses’ hooves, the cool crisp air wafting gently, gave Yuuri a boost to his enthusiasm. He gave Wolfram an amiable smile as Wolfram glanced over his shoulder at him.

“Keep up, boots,” Wolfram chided, his green eyes glowing. “What are you doing back there?”

“Counting the rocks and the trees,” Yuuri said sarcastically. “And what does “boots’ mean?”

“The name army commanders give to their new recruits.”

“You were a soldier?” Yuuri exclaimed, hurrying after him as Wolfram nodded.

“Six years.”

 _I thought it was just jest_ , Yuuri thought, recalling Wolfram mentioning something similar when he first met the Maou King.

“I find it hard to imagine it,” Yuuri said carefully.

“As do I,” Wolfram sighed. “I trained under both my brother’s regiments.”

“Did you ever see battle?” Yuuri inquired, though already knowing the answer, given the facts of Wolfram’s lack of majutsu.

“No,” Wolfram sighed, turning slightly grim.

They stopped in a clearing, on a hill overlooking the bright lights of the distant towns. A metropolis of bath houses, muffled chatter and slight music. Wolfram dismounted his animal and walked closer, helping Yuuri tie the animals to a nearby tree.

They both looked on toward the valley, settling upon the soft grass beside each other. The sky was velvet dark now, the moon and the twinkle of the stars their only light. The night breeze blowing steady and cool. The clarity above reflecting Wolfram’s mind and soul, content of being here at last with his King. Yet as he turned to look at his human fiancée, the same could not be said.

If ever a man looked as though he needed to talk it was this person, now. What questions should Wolfram ask? Would his fiancée even answer? All Wolfram’s soft instincts, the need to comfort, to nurture and console were telling him to help the man. To help the _human_ side of his fiancée.

“Sir?” Wolfram braved to ask. “What’s the matter?”

“I…I’ve been wanting to apologize to you, for putting you in a position below your status.” Yuuri said, giving his head a slight bow and looking at him. “It was cruel on my part. I’m sorry.”

“You mean your other self, do you not?”

“Whether it is him or I—the fault is equally mine for I do nothing to stop him. You weren’t meant for such labor, you’re a prince and above all,” Yuuri blushed slightly, his words that held such passion in the beginning now dwindled into a low uncertain shyness. “…my fiancée.”

Wolfram’s heart swelled with joy and pride, his king acknowledged him and had truly thought about him all this time by how sincere his apology had been.

Yuuri had never felt so flustered by a man’s beauty before. Yet Wolfram’s beauty beckoned him to kiss and touch him, a desire to not only possess Wolfram physically but all of that was Wolfram. Yuuri looked away, gazing at the towns below as a distraction from the temptation that tormented him.

After a while neither spoke, Yuuri was grateful Wolfram remained quiet, looking so serene and calm. Patiently waiting for him to say or do anything. So unlike the concubines he’d come to know in his bed. Clinging to him, flirting empty words, and desperate for his touch. 

“Tell me, Wolf, do you think a man can change in time?” he asked suddenly, seeking an opinion. “Even when angry or bitter for so long?”

Wolfram inhaled softly. “I believe a person has reasons to be angry and bitter. I sure do not believe you are the same as the Maou. Yet, I feel _you_ think you are.”

“Yes, I do.” Yuuri replied quickly. “I am. Always.”

Wolfram sighed inwardly.

He was lonely. This powerful man, who seemed so in command of his world, was alone in it. Wolfram’s heart ached for him. Wolfram knew what loneliness was, besides his family, Wolfram had been alone all his life, too.

Wolfram moved closer, following the human’s gaze as it lingered on the bath house lights glittering in the distance.

“Sometimes,” Yuuri continued. “I feel as though all the thoughts I had about building the bath house Kingdom came from another world—very far from this time.”

Wolfram stared, the moon light shining brightly on Yuuri’s handsome gentle features.

“Another world from a different time?” Wolfram asked, genuinely curious. Was that even possible?

“A previous life, maybe.” Yuuri chuckled nervously, clearly embarrassed at realizing he had confessed such a private notion. “I-I know it all must sound silly—”

“Only a little,” Wolfram admitted, shrugging a bit as Yuuri laughed in good humor before adding, “Yet, without those thoughts, you wouldn’t have created such an empire—a place like this.”

Wolfram gestured to the lights of the bath houses in the distance, unaware of Yuuri’s intense look at him.

“I do not believe it was such a bad thing to have them, so don’t feel put down by it.”

Boldly, Wolfram placed a warm hand on Yuuri’s own, who rewarded him with a soft smile.

“Thank you.” Yuuri said, relieved the blonde Mazoku hadn’t laughed.

“This other world,” Wolfram inquired, looking at him curiously. “You feel your human side comes from there, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You do not fear your Mazoku side, you just…thrive on his confidence.”

“Yes.” Yuuri turned his head, looking at Wolfram with such a quizzical expression.

“You do not want to be set free.”

“Yes...”

“Not yet, at least.” Wolfram added boldly. “But one day you will. And I’ll wait until then, so don’t feel rushed, sir.”

Wolfram turned his sight back to the distant landscape, Yuuri’s hand still in his, unaware that the other watched him intently. Observing Wolfram’s profile silhouetted in moonlight, soft golden hair blowing behind him in the night breeze, to the green of his eyes rivaling the greenest of spring grass.

Yuuri wondered if the blonde Mazoku could hear his heart, pounding so loudly in the quiet stillness of the night. It shocked him that Wolfram knew the complexity of his emotions having only just met him. Why was it so easy to talk to Wolfram like this?

Almost as if this person was meant to.

Yuuri leaned his face to the top of Wolfram’s head, hovering his nose just barely touching Wolfram’s hair.

 _He smells nice…_ Yuuri thought, inhaling softly and breathing quietly so the other wouldn’t notice.

“It’s getting late, sir,” Wolfram said suddenly, rising from the ground, letting his hand slip from Yuuri’s before the other caught him again, forcing Wolfram’s head to turn and look at him.

“Yuuri. You can call me Yuuri.” Wolfram blushed as his fiancée gave him a genuine smile, showing off the white of teeth.

“Yuuri, then.”

Yuuri watched Wolfram turn away, noticing his ears and cheeks turn pink and knowing well he’d never forget this night.


	3. Chapter Two: Conversations

Chapter Two: Conversations

Morning came with light sunshine, blue skies and warm winds and Wolfram rushed out into the gardens. Murata followed behind in a more languid pace.

 _Perfect day for a light spar_ , Wolfram thought as he swung two wooden swords in each hand, warming his arm muscles in slow circles. He had “borrowed” the swords from a storage closet behind the stables one day while looking for equipment to clean and brush the horses with.

It was time of peace and the training of soldiers had lessened and Wolfram was confident that the two training weapons would not be missed. (Plus, Murata had not said anything once the man saw them in Wolfram’s possession and so all was well.) Wolfram insisted on a brief “exercise” before breakfast and Murata had agreed. Only now, Murata stared perplexed when the blonde prince handed him one of the wooden swords.

“Spar with me, please,” the blonde said, already positioning his stance with eager enthusiasm.

“I’d rather not.” Murata stated calmly, trying to give the sword back, but Wolfram ignored the gesture.

“You do know how, don’t you, sir?”

“Well, yes, when the occasion provides it a necessity for survival—"

“Then the time is now!”

With no warning, Wolfram rushed forward with a soft cry, swinging the wooden sword down for a punishing blow. Murata ducked to the side, fast and low, the maneuver perfectly timed.

The prince had not been himself since his night out with Yuuri, Murata noted. Wolfram worried Yuuri had not called him again and had admitted to Murata of missing his fiancée these past two days.

Murata begun to think that perhaps he should not have involved himself to try to get them together, but seeing the prince looking in high spirits today if only for this moment, lessened Murata’s guilty conscious a bit.

He had conversed with Yuuri last night, something he did not tell Wolfram about since it was unexpected. Unplanned and did not fare well in the end in his opinion, seeing as the Maou has neglected Wolfram again, proving that the conversation he had with Yuuri only seemed to push the man farther away.

Murata sighed inwardly as he recalled his conversation with Yuuri just last night:

‘Twas late in the evening and the Maou lingered in the gentleman’s bar and parlor room, a small cup of rice wine in his hand, only half-listening to the languid conversations of a few men who had retired there for a quiet gentlemanly evening. He stayed for a long while, quietly watching as one by one the men left the room until he alone sat there in the light of the fireplace. Unmoving.

The Maou reasoned before that if he remained firm in avoiding Wolfram, the prince might eventually abandon their arranged engagement and thus his freedom to indulge in his vices again would return. ‘Twas the reason why he had avoided the prince all that week at the start of his arrival.

Then, Yuuri’s thoughts came into the fore. Imagining how nice it would be having a life-long partner as his only lover. Sharing their days in care-free bliss. Wondering how it would feel to have a true connection with someone. Someone who looked at him in a meaningful way.

The Maou shook his head to himself, sinking more deeply in his armchair. Though his lips curved into a smile, fear flickered behind his eyes. He knew his human counterpart would take part in being his undoing once he truly accepted someone into his heart.

Yuuri had acidly admitted a while back that drifting aimlessly from random partners had made him bitter with self-loathing. The bitterness of never being able to fully trust himself with no one, the bliss he secretly envied from the rare wedded couples that would come into his bath house, the loneliness that sunk his heart that he never let show.

All this had turned him into this empty person. Like a ghost never quite connecting.

The Maou took another sip of wine, his charcoal eyes gleaming as lurid thoughts flooded his mind, of blonde curls of hair scattered in his white sheets, limbs of pale marble skin wrapping meekly around him, a brush of lips and wide innocent, green eyes…

A gentle creak in the hall had his head snap to the side, straining his ear in direction of the closed door, sensing someone there. Knowing well who it was he stood from his armchair and quietly walked to the door.

Murata paused, a hand hovering just above the gold metal latch outside the door where he had been told the Maou was. He inhaled an air of courage before the door suddenly creaked open for him and there stood the Maou. Cladded in long, black, loose pants, barefoot with a black bathrobe opened at the front. And eyes an inky blackness that looked almost demonic as they stared down at the Great Sage.

Murata forced himself to remain taciturn before bowing briefly at him. “The bath house has closed for the night, sir.”

“Is everyone gone?” came the Maou’s deep voice.

“Yes.”

“Then come sit with me for a bit.”

Repressing his shock, Murata made his way inside, closing the door before sitting across the chair from the Maou. He waited for the man to speak, and after a long while, Yuuri was the one who spoke, and Murata was grateful because he had hoped to converse with his human friend.

“It’s been a while since we last talked.” Yuuri said gently.

“Yes, it has.”

A pause.

“What do you think of him?” Yuuri finally asked, wishing to break the awkward silence between them. Murata took this to his advantage now that they were on the topic of Wolfram.

“He’s quiet and too trusting of others.” Murata began. “And what about you? What was he like for you?”

Yuuri sighed, turning to face the fire. His voice low. “That night, it seemed as if he understood me. His words seemed so sincere that I felt like I can be my true self with him. And being with him like that felt…”

 _So nice_ , Yuuri thought secretly. He recalled the softness of Wolfram’s hair on his face, the smell of him and the light touch of the prince’s warm hand. A small smile barely grazed his lips before he cleared his throat and added, “He is everything I did not expect him to be.”

 _Same,_ Murata thought, smiling fondly at Yuuri’s honest confession. “That’s good—that is very good, Shibuya.”

Murata thought he sensed emotion in Yuuri yet just as quickly as he had come, Yuuri was gone.

“Don’t misunderstand!” The Maou burst forth, leaning out of his chair. “The only reason why I accepted that outing was so you would stop pestering me! And besides, your prince Bielefelt only uses his meek subjugation as an outlet to his lust for me.”

Murata’s eyes widened.

“Yes. He does not think I see it, but I do!” He fell back in his chair with a huff. “He is just like the rest of them.”

“No, he is not! He’s toiled to try to please you and yet you remain ignorant of him,” Murata accused, taking advantage to speak his mind now that he had both Maou and Yuuri in the fore. “Giving him the position of a servant—Shibuya, how could you?”

“We apologized,” the Maou drawled out with an upward shrug of his shoulders. “And besides, your prince seemed to take it well.”

Murata frowned, eyes wide and incredulous. “Did he rebuff your human side?” he asked through gritted teeth.

The Maou sighed. “No, he did not, but it doesn’t mean anything,” he dismissed easily, taking another sip from his cup before adding, “It’s only foolish puppy love.”

Murata shook his head at the King’s stubbornness.

Yuuri did not know how to love but it was only because the Maou recognized love as a weakness and folly, which was the reason why women were attracted to the Maou King so. They each hoped to be the one to finally capture his heart but that was something neither Yuuri nor the Maou had ever allowed. Yet, for the first time, Murata was confident the Maou’s barrier may crack if only Yuuri would open himself to all that Wolfram had to offer.

“Prince Bielefelt longs for you and wants to be with you—human or Maou—tell me you don’t see it.” Murata said, pausing briefly and looking intently at the Maou, who only stared intimately at his empty rice wine cup.

“I don’t intend to fall in love with anyone, you know that,” the King said grimly, then to prove his seriousness he added, “I’ve no want for it.”

“Then what _do_ you want, Shibuya? Spend your entire life with your endless parade of unsatisfied—”

“I want him to respect the boundaries I give!” the Maou snapped enraged. “And for him to keep it that way.”

“And he does.” Murata crossed his arms. “For now.”

A pause.

“What do you mean ‘for now’?”

“I mean exactly this: If you wish to preserve any amount of the affection Wolfram has for you right now, I suggest you _reflect._ Because the way you are behaving with him, the only thing you’ll succeed is in making Wolfram hate you. And then, there’ll be no turning back and you’ll be left in misery of what you are being given freely today.”

“Freely?” the Maou echoed lazily.

“Yes. He asks for nothing and is so incredibly giving—it would be easy for you to love him.”

“Or get into his pants,” the Maou added, a crooked smile on his lips.

Murata was not amused. He stood heading to the door only to stop when the Maou turned him about by the sharp grip on his shoulder.

“You see? You’ve always been strict with me!” he accused. “And in the presence of _Yuuri_ you remain silent and obey his orders with no question!”

“It is not _him_ I need to convince—if the only way that will happen is if _you_ change!” Murata countered as the Maou stared at him in silent shock. “He’s much stronger-willed than you, but he’s become so dependent on your rebellious ways to hide himself behind you all these years! And now from Wolfram!”

It was the first time Murata used the prince’s name, his passion and rage dwindling his prim and proper attitude. And above all, his respect for the king himself.

The Maou took a step back, his dark eyes filling with a light brown color and his hair shortening as he reappeared before him now as human Yuuri.

“He’s the reason you are here isn’t he?” he said softly, his hands fisted on his sides. “Did he put you up to this?”

“Of course not! He is far too polite to complain to me of anything even if does cause him grief! But I see all that and more when I look into his eyes.” Murata’s anger softened just thinking about it. And Yuuri looked at him with an uncertain shyness. “I feel a connection with him, Shibuya, as if I know his silent longing for you.”

“Oh, how _touching_ ,” the Maou mocked acidly, his lip pulled up in a cruel sneer as he intervened again. “Do me the honor and _you_ marry him and leave me be!”

The back and forth confrontation between the two stubborn people were earning Murata a headache. Making him irritable.

“Now you’re being a jerk! You’d know what I’m talking about if you spend more time with him.” Murata headed for the door again but paused for a moment before turning to the Maou and adding, “Have care, Your Highness. Prince Bielefelt will love you completely if only you give him the chance to show it to you.”

“Yes, as will his love for my wealth—”

The sound of the door slamming shut was the last the Maou heard.

Behind the door, Murata was annoyed. He glared at the wooden door, then shook his head as he headed to his guest room and thought back on how the Maou behaved and everything that was said. The memory of the Maou’s words earning one single thought in his head:

_Idiot._

“You’re holding back, sir,” Wolfram complained lightly, breaking away Murata’s thoughts, who had only circled around Wolfram all this time, staying in the defensive.

Murata hoped to comply to Wolfram’s fancies so the prince would distract himself from his longing to see the King, but he was never one for sports or training, which was a shame. He recalled Shibuya being an excellent swordsman back in the days when turmoil claimed the land years back…

So, he shrugged lamely and said, “I do not believe I’m a worthy opponent for you, is all.”

“No, but I am.”

Both men turned to see the Maou walking toward them around the corner of the garden, already shedding his thin black coat and pulling up his white sleeves, looking amused. Shocking all.

“I hear you are quite the paragon of obedience, little prince,” the Maou began, taking the wooden sword from a stunned Murata and rolling the hilt in his hands. “A perfect candidate fitting for the position I gave you—how ironic.”

The Maou chuckled.

“ _Shibuya_ …” Murata warned sharply through gritted teeth, fearing the Maou’s attempt to taunt the prince will hurt the blonde’s pride, noting the reddened cheeks on Wolfram features.

What he did not know was that Wolfram did not take the Maou’s words as insult, in truth, Wolfram did not hear them at all. His heart pounded anew as the Maou approached, looking exotic in a white blouse with bulbous sleeves, black tight pants that clung to perfectly long and strong legs and polished hessian boots.

Wolfram’s eyes leered down to the waistband of the King’s black trousers, keeping his blatant sight there. The throbbing heat radiated even more in his face when the great cylindrical bulge of his trousers was now more in detail with the light of the sun. It was right there in front of him, too astonishingly large to miss.

Oh, god.

Wolfram jumped when the Maou tapped the tips of their wooden swords, the movement and sound forcing Wolfram to glance up at him then, eyes flared wide as he met the black pools of the king. 

“What is the matter?” the Maou asked, expression hard. “Were you hoping it was your Yuuri again?”

“No,” Wolfram answered truthfully, smiling at him. “I’m happy it is _you_ this time, my King.”

The Maou’s sardonic expression sobered down instantly. Wolfram’s voice had come as an intimate murmur the Maou felt it could coax any secret from his well-guarded heart. He gazed at the prince’s green eyes that he feared could also see into the depths of his soul—bring forth things he had never revealed to anyone, like he had so easily done with his human counterpart.

The Maou shed the feelings away, ignoring the sudden beat of his chest and began to circle Wolfram instead, grateful that the tips of their wooden swords were the only contact between the two. Then, the Maou attacked, one fast blow after the other, each quickly blocked expertly.

Wolfram chanced his turn to attack, hammering the wooden sword down with strong blows.

The Maou growled. It was no easy feat blocking Wolfram’s blows. The Maou had to duck fast and spin quicker for Wolfram’s energy clearly tested his strength and speed. How surprising that all the hours spent sparring against other skilled knights, beating each one, believing there was no one to match him. Yet, he had to admit Wolfram was a strong one.

On the next set on strokes the Maou countered differently and much harder, wanting the blonde Mazoku to know he too fought with the same fiery eagerness and was unwilling to surrender so easily, too.

There was a moment when the blonde prince stood chest to chest with the Maou, the two swords crossed in between them, both smiling at each other briefly before Wolfram pushed himself away, lowering his sword and pausing for a brief respite.

“You frighten me,” the Maou laughed through labored breath, flicking his damp hair to the side. “Who taught you how to fight this way?”

Wolfram’s own breath was labored. His hand hurt and his palm was sweaty from gripping the wooden handle. His sword arm was weary, he had not spared this way for a while and felt he was out of practice.

The king’s dark hair glittered with sweat, and when the Maou opened the front of his blouse to air out the dampness of his chest, Wolfram forced to tear his eyes away.

“My brothers,” Wolfram said at last.

 _I needed to prove to them and myself that I could protect myself,_ he thought secretly.

“They taught you well,” came the Maou’s reply, with a smile so genuine that pride and joy swelled within the blonde prince. Praise always lifted his spirits.

Just then, Murata strolled close announcing breakfast was ready.

“W-Will you join me, your Highness?” Wolfram asked suddenly, shocking all. “Please?”

The Maou looked down at the prince who’s face had turned a dark shade of red, clearly embarrassed by his own impulsive request. The Maou had wanted to run off as soon as the sparring ended, but one look at the hungry expectation in Wolfram’s stare dissolved his resolution.

Wolfram had to admit that it was shameless how much he craved his king’s attention but there seemed to be no remedy for it and merely being near to the Maou helped to ease the knot in his stomach and the nerves in his head a bit.

The words were out before he could think. “Very well then.”

Wolfram turned to give Murata a silent triumphant smile which Murata returned by a bright nod of his head.

The Maou had not noticed their secret exchange for he was already making his way to the breakfast table. The servants who were waiting to serve gave Murata a questioning look as the King sat on the chair that was meant for Murata since the staff was used to the Great Sage having meals with the prince, but Murata dismissed their worries with a discreet shake of his hand.

He rather the prince and the Maou eat breakfast together as they should have done since the very first day. And Murata was more than happy on how things had turned out. Once he made sure the affianced couple was served, he led the servants back inside the castle and he himself closed the glass door, leaving them alone in the sunroom. He would take advantage of this moment to go to the towns and get supplies for this evening. And he informed the staff of this and soon made his way out to ready for the short journey.

~*~

The sky had turned a cloudless baby blue and both Wolfram and King gazed at it, the sound of the twittering birds and soft clink of their breakfast dishes the only melody surrounding them.

This breakfast consisted of rice, miso soup with tofu, salmon, and fresh strawberries. A simple and quick meal, less glamorous than what the Maou was used to, yet neither he nor anyone expected the Maou would break his fast with the Mazoku prince that morn.

As Wolfram blew at his hot cup of mint tea, the Maou slid a sideward glance at the prince, studying him. Such graceful long lashes and lips the color of a dewy pink rose…

“Your garden is beautiful.” Wolfram commented suddenly.

The Maou quickly reined himself in from his heated thoughts, glancing to the side in his attempt to feign contemplative study over the roses behind the prince’s shoulder. “It is overgrown a bit.”

Wolfram looked about the clean well-maintained garden, perplexed, but dismissed the notion quick. “I’d like to try to paint it once, though I’m not very good.”

The Maou raised an eyebrow. “I did not think you were the artistic type.”

Wolfram smiled reluctantly. “I am not, but I dabble a bit and it helps pass the time. I also enjoy reading.”

_Oh, joy. Another Murata._

“Horse-back riding and dancing are my true pleasures.”

The Maou laughed softly, tickled by the Mazoku’s seemingly girlish revelations. _Of course, you do._

“You see, all my life I’ve been treated differently because of my lack of majutsu and so mother kept me close to house and home a lot. It isn’t easy to make friends that way either, so I spend a lot time doing all those things I mentioned.”

The Maou paused, suddenly feeling guilty for laughing.

“When my family told me I was to become engaged at eighteen, I willed myself to learn so many things. Etiquette, how to run a kingdom. How to fight in battle so I could not only protect what I love but also be worthy to stand beside the person I would marry. Everything so that person would not be ashamed of me—telling myself that we are in this together. And I’m grateful it was you.”

At this the Maou stared at Wolfram, shocked silent as the prince continued.

“I thought that with time I could learn to like you, but after knowing you and Yuuri, I realized I do not want to _learn_ to like you,” Wolfram looked at him intensely. “I want to _want_ to like you. Don’t you want to also?”

 _In my case, that is a lot to ask for._ The Maou wanted to say but chose not to. If it had been anyone else, he would have said it and coldly, too. Yet, how could he say such a thing to someone who just flaunted his soul to him with such breathtaking sincerity. Murata’s words rang in his head:

_He asks for nothing and is so incredibly giving._

Moving with measured care, Wolfram sat the teacup back on the saucer. Squeezing a lemon wedge and adding a spoonful of honey to his tea. Wolfram’s lashes veiling his downward gaze.

_Prince Bielefelt will love you completely if only you give him the chance to show it to you._

_Love_ , the Maou thought with a snort of disdain, and still, an illogical part of him was weary, even a bit afraid of Wolfram. His clear gaze and transparent emotions unsettled his cynical side. But was Murata’s prince as virtuous as his words painted him to be?

He remembered the discreet way Wolfram glanced at him beneath his lashes the first time they met, the startled jump the Mazoku had given when he realized he had been staring too much.

“Murata said you are shy with men,” the Maou lied. Wolfram perked up, his face flaring pink.

“I am not!” he countered quickly before glancing back down at his breakfast, his tone less of a shock now. “I’m only like that…with you, sir.”

 _Because I like you,_ Wolfram wanted to say but felt he had already revealed too much.

“Tell me, then,” the Maou asked, ignoring the pounding of his heart at Wolfram’s last words. “Have you ever seen people make love before?”

Taken by surprise by the sudden question and wide-eyed, Wolfram shook his head so comically the Maou chuckled. Wolfram seemed to accept his teasing so easily, quickly and with such naivete and embarrassment.

He paused for a moment, waiting for Wolfram to speak, so used to hearing flirtatious responses afterward. Knowing how his teasing made his past lovers giggle with amusement, feigning shyness. Yet Wolfram did not say a word, only stared at him in quiet wonder.

The Maou realized then that his betrothed was truly untouched. The mere thought of that realization heating the core of his lewd desires. He gazed at Wolfram’s big eyes, noted the flush of his cheeks, lingered in the prince’s mouth…

Untouched.

Yes, indeed.

Wolfram flinched when the Maou reached out and tucked a soft lock of Wolfram’s hair behind a pink, flushed ear. He then grazed the bottom of Wolfram’s chin with a finger, watching as the other’s face reddened, mouth parted as the prince heaved a little.

He looked at Wolfram in the eye and said under his breath, “I have forgotten how it feels to be as innocent as you.”

Wolfram’s passion, the secret hunger that radiated so transparently within those green pools of his eyes— it irritated the Maou, tweaked his patience realizing his skill of manipulation did nothing to tempt the blonde beauty to touch him.

And by the stars, the Maou wanted him to.

Suddenly, breaking the spell, the sound of one of the staff members clearing his throat forced the Maou back to his senses. He gasped softly, yanking his hand away from Wolfram’s face just as the young man casually strolled in, his voice passive as he bowed apologetically saying, “Forgive me Your Majesty. Prince Bielefelt, I need to speak with his Highness about tomorrow’s guests, please.”

A maid the lad had brought with him walked toward Wolfram.

“Come along, prince,” she said. The maid pushed at Wolfram’s back gently, leading the blonde prince back inside the castle.

The Maou reigned in his disappointment at how quickly Wolfram obeyed. He expected Wolfram to launch at him, chide him into staying a bit longer or cling a leg to his thigh like the women did to garnish his attention. Yet Wolfram did none of those things, only smiled softly at him over his shoulder until he was led away.

~*~

The town had heard of the King’s new bride and seemed disappointed Murata had not brought the prince with him. Yet they welcomed him enthusiastically, particularly more when they realized he was buying goods.

Clouds sat high in the sky, the air was warm and ripe and there was activity and noise all about the market.

Murata left the bargaining with merchants to his trusted assistant and ordered two soldiers to go with him and protect him. As the others loaded the carriage once the goods were bought, a man by the book-seller stall caught his eye. He recognized the Voltaire crest on the uniforms of the two soldiers that stood next to Prince Gwendal. Murata approached the stall, a smile forming his lips as noticed the slight frown on Sir Gwendal face as he was clearly troubled by his limited options.

“Perhaps one with more pages in it, sir?” the merchant suggested cautiously, waving his hand to his collection of more thick-bound books.

“He is fond of reading, but I’d prefer a more elegant gift for a wedding present. Have you nothing else?”

At this Murata approached. “Well, he loves horse-back riding so perhaps new riding boots and a nice pair of riding gloves?”

Gwendal turned to Murata, a small smile forming on his lips the instant he recognized the other. “Yes. Yes, he does.”

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Your Highness,” said Murata, bowing to him. He had only known Sir Gwendal through the letters and the final affidavit they had exchanged for Prince Bielefeld’s arranged marriage to the Demon King. And he assumed the same could be said for the other man.

Gwendal turned, acknowledging him with a nod of his head. He wore a royal court doublet with golden pattern, short cap sleeves over full length thin white, fitted sleeves, and framing his waist a fine leather sash. Complete with black pants and boots and a dark green silk cloak without a hood covering his shoulders.

They walked about the market, Gwendal’s soldiers following silently behind them as they conversed.

“You are younger than I thought,” Gwendal said, glancing down at Murata.

“Not so young, my lord. I am turned twenty-one this year.”

Gwendal nodded, and changed topic. “This union will surely make both kingdoms prosper. Wolfram is an excellent match for the Demon King, do you not agree?”

“I do. And it is my hope that prince Bielefelt softens Shibuya’s heart. Shibuya has been alone far too long, though he doesn’t admit it.”

“Oh, yes, Wolfram knows of loneliness, as well. When he was a child, he would miss mother when she’d be away and had trouble sleeping. I said to him ‘I’ll lend you my back’ and he would sleep holding my back. Though once my royal duties as the first born led me away from home, Conrad said Wolfram would sneak into his room and hold him claiming to miss _me_.” He shook his head at himself, chuckling softly at the memory. “He lessened that habit as he grew older, of course. Now, he only does it again when something truly upsets him. He means no harm by it.”

They stopped by the edge of town, and both overlooked the grand vastness of Blood Pledge Castle and its land, miles away.

“To be loved so much and cared for by two older brothers.” Murat complimented. “He is lucky to have been born into such a family.”

Gwendal’s face frowned a bit, his expression somber. “I suppose it had more to do with the fact that he was born without Majutsu powers. Now that I look back, I feel we did wrong by him, keeping him sheltered the way we did. Conrad has been worried Wolfram would be homesick. I was nearby and was going to personally see Wolfram and ease Conrad’s worries.”

Murata froze at this. He had told Gwendal how the prince had faired, from his outings with the king and his evenings spent riding or reading, carefully leaving the fact that the Maou had ordered Wolfram to be made a temporary helping hand. Gwendal nor his family certainly would not approve of this last fact if he visited Wolfram now. If he did, how on earth was he to explain—

“Now, I see there is no need,” came Gwendal’s voice suddenly. “I’m sure he’s in good hands, seeing how you spoke so fondly of him earlier and I’m grateful you are keeping him company.”

“Thank you,” Murata returned, doing his best to hide the relief from his expression as Gwendal looked at him.

A warm gust of wind blew, and Murata’s long black hair swayed with it. Gwendal stared at the movement silently.

“May I be so bold to say: you have beautiful hair. It’s almost a shame to cut it.”

Murata smiled at the familiar words. “My father would say the same. After mother passed, he’d say my hair reminded him of her and for his sake, I’ve always kept it…this way…”

Realizing how personal and how much he had said, Murata looked away, flustered. He looked back silently and watched as Gwendal tangled his fingers on the long black hair, feeling the softness. Their eyes caught for a brief second.

Just then Murata’s assistant approached them and Gwendal slowly let his fingers slip away from Murata’s hair as both men turned to the lad who bowed tentatively at them before speaking, “Your Eminence, the carriage is loaded and awaiting you.”

The sun was set high in the sky, almost noon and Murata had not realized how much time has passed so quickly. Before he could excuse himself to prince Voltaire, the man spoke first, “I best take my leave. Mayhap we see each other again in Wolfram’s wedding day?”

The Maou’s royal carriage approached, stopping in front of them.

“Yes,” Murata said. At least he _hoped_ there will be a wedding…

Murata took Gwendal’s offered hand as he helped Murata climb inside the carriage.

“We’ll be sending Wolfram’s engagement gifts soon, please allow us your discretion, we wish for it to be a surprise.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Gwendal bowed in a princely manner as the carriage took off.

Murata knew the evening would be a stressful one for him, as it always was when a patron of the bath house bought the service of both concubine and bath maids for his traveling soldiers. And as always, the patron would ask for the King to host a private casual dinner in the main bath house.

The Maou was not pleased when Murata told him this when he returned from the towns, but Murata reminded him it was a must to continue the feudal lord’s patronage. ‘Twas also a good opportunity for him to introduce his fiancée and, to his surprise, the Maou had agreed.

“Yes. See that he is ready in time and bring him down to me at dinner,” the Maou had ordered, to Murata’s delight.

Murata rushed to find the prince to deliver this message, knowing Wolfram would be most pleased. His stress quickly lessening as he felt confident that mayhap his conversation with the Maou the previous night had indeed changed the Maou’s behavior for the better.

And it was during these thoughts that, there, inside the large green house, Murata found prince Wolfram.

~*~

Wolfram inhaled the scent of roses, covering his eyes from the blinding light of the sun as he straightened up from the short rose bush. He picked up the basket at his feet, smiling at the bundle of fresh red and white roses he had cut. He looked up just then, to see Murata saunter through the garden path, heading his direction inside the green house as soon as their eyes met.

The usual smile Murata grazed him often was gone, replaced by a small hint of displeasure.

“Is something wrong?” Wolfram asked, walking toward the man.

“What are you doing in here?” Murata asked, his eyes glaring softly at the basket of flowers Wolfram carried and used garden gloves.

“I cut roses for the vases that will be used in the guest rooms at the main bath house tonight. I was told we will be expecting a lot of guests!” Wolfram said with a smile. “I was just about to—"

Murata scowled. “I thought we had agreed you need not concern yourself with other people’s duties. Not anymore.”

Wolfram nodded, downcast. “I know we did, but—”

“This is the duty of Laila and the castle gardeners. How could they have let you—”

“Don’t scold them,” Wolfram said quickly. “It was I who told them to let me do it. I wanted to help! They were just doing as they were told, as the king’s fiancée.”

Murata sighed. His temper subsiding. How could he express his displeasure to someone as sweet as Wolfram? Someone who kept to his loneliness and never complained? 

(And having this in common was one of the reasons Murata suspected he had softened his heart to the blonde Mazoku.)

He hooked one of Wolfram’s hands around his arm and started leading him back inside the castle. “And as the king’s _fiancée_ ,” Murata playfully poked Wolfram on the rib, making the blonde giggle. “Your duty is not chores anymore. There will be a gathering of one of the King’s patrons, so, I must see that you are ready for tonight.”

Wolfram gasped, a smile suddenly framing his face. “Will Yuuri be there?”

Wolfram’s eyes lit up with such joy, Murata chuckled. “Yes, indeed. Well, the Maou, but—oomph!”

Wolfram dashed across the garden path, taking Murata with him, the basket of roses swinging wildly in Wolfram’s arms.

Murata regarded Wolfram for a moment as they made their way to Wolfram’s chambers. The prince’s enthusiasm and they joy that radiated from the blonde made him ask, “Tell me, Bielefelt, do you truly care for His Majesty? Even his human side?”

Wolfram recalled the comfortable and friendly atmosphere on his night out with Yuuri. The trust Yuuri had to regale him of his human emotions, his vulnerability, all of it no one else knew.

Yuuri had escorted Wolfram back to the castle that night, even went as far as to help Wolfram off the horse. And before departing, Yuuri bowed to him, even gave a kiss to Wolfram’s hand again, like the perfect gentleman. He sighed contently as he also thought of this morning when he and the Maou sparred. The Maou, who radiated the embodiment of his hidden desires that heated him to the core. The sound of his voice and the way he had touched Wolfram’s hair.

Wolfram felt even more confident that things were going well.

“I’m his fiancée,” Wolfram finally answered. “I’d do _anything_ for him.”

Murata shook his head. “But do you _want_ him? _Both_ sides of him?”

Want the Maou? Want his King to cover him, to claim him, to enter him and feed that endless ache? Want to love and satisfy his Yuuri and be his consort and husband? Now and forever?

“Oh, yes,” Wolfram breathed, remembering how those pitch-black eyes haunted his dreams, imagining the feel of Yuuri’s gentle hands roaming his body, dreaming of the Maou’s hot and hard body heating Wolfram in places so intimate he could not say out loud. “I want him with all my being, Murata. _All_ of him. And I cannot wait to see him again.”

~*~

Yuuri wasn’t much for parties, although it was a necessity to entertain his regular guests to continue their patronage and so, in nights like these, he let the Maou indulge in his vices as much as he pleased. Some men smoked, others drank rice wine and the rest became ensnared in the thrill of the concubines and bath maids. He knew the Maou irked the thought of indulging in his usual habits like the guests, yet Yuuri kept repeating “I am engaged” in his mind, even though the reality of this would still take a bit of getting used to.

Still, Yuuri longed for distraction from the boredom he felt. And, as Yuuri escaped into his thoughts, Wolfram had proved a lovely distraction this morning. And the same was said of tonight when Wolfram finally arrived. The room became unusually quiet and Yuuri himself lost his voice. 

His future consort. So beautiful in a royal blue blouse with gold lining on the collar and wrists. And tight black pants that showed off a perfectly round bottom, shoulder-length hair positively shining and red hued cheeks.

He watched Murata lead Wolfram across the room, almost hating to disturb his own gawking by calling the prince quickly to his side. He observed Wolfram looking uncomfortable among the mix of staff, knights and concubines in the room, frolicking and mingling in intimate ways. And once Murata’s eyes met Yuuri’s, the Maou called to them above the bustle of noise.

“Go stand somewhere until I need you,” the Maou dismissed Murata, who only bowed and turned away, leaving Wolfram standing there unsure of what to do next.

“Wolfram, sit and meet the next town’s chancellor—Alan Alberic of Irrison. He’s been a loyal patron to the bath house for eight years now.”

The Maou hadn’t thought about it, just opened his mouth and the words had fallen out. He watched the prince walk gracefully to Alberic, give him a smile and his right hand. Wolfram said, “It is an honor, sir.”

Alberic stared at the lovely prince with golden hair and big, wide eyes. He kissed Wolfram’s stretched hand, lingering his hold on Wolfram’s soft skin of his fingers. “The pleasure is all mine.”

The look both Alberic and the blonde held for a moment made the Maou’s blood churn. It was out of unease. The sight of Alberic’s lingering touch of Wolfram’s hand, the intense look the man gave to Wolfram as the blonde blushed and bit his lips--it annoyed him to see that, but why?

Not taking his eyes off the prince, Alberic said to the Maou, “I did not realize you had wedded, my lord. And to such a beauty.”

The Maou nearly jumped a foot off the ground. “Nay, he is not my wife.”

Wolfram’s shocked eyes directed at him and the Maou’s heart skipped. He did not like that look on Wolfram’s face, so he cleared his throat and added quickly, “ _Yet._ We are to wed at the end of the year.”

He saw Wolfram let out a silent sigh of relief, his green eyes peaceful and his pale face turn a hue of pink.

That was better.

He continued. “We are expected to reside together in my kingdom until then.”

“Ah, placing two birds together in a cage before the big day. How old-fashioned,” the man smiled, showing off his white teeth.

Wolfram heart was beating so loud he could hear the pounding in his ears. He did not like the man’s lingering touch, but he felt it would be rude to pull away. He did not know how important this wealthy lord was to his King. He did not wish to create an unnecessary rift between them if Wolfram should act out, causing the man Alberic to cut ties to his loyal yearly patronage to Yuuri’s bath house business. Instead, Wolfram swallowed his unease and remained silent and unmoving.

The Maou, on the other hand, his eyes never wavered from Alberic’s hand that still held Wolfram. And he noticed the blonde made no move to let go either, irritating him even more. Alberic’s large thumb rubbed obstinately on Wolfram’s palm, his thin wrist and toyed with Wolfram’s fingers.

As if in a spell, the Maou reached over and pulled Wolfram away by taking the prince’s other hand. Wolfram was forced away from the man and motioned to sit next to him on the table. And before he realized it, he gripped Wolfram’s waist, edging him closer, keeping his hand on the prince’s hip, almost as of claiming him, there in front of his staff, and most importantly, in front of the man Alberic. He did not notice the look of delight and pride in Wolfram’s face as the Maou stared intently at Alberic with eyes as black as a sinner’s soul.

Alberic chuckled, raising his glass, ignoring the King’s narrowed eyes and the frown on his face.

“Look at you, all worked up,” he teased. “All chances of your free-rein as bachelor is doomed, for sure.”

As if waking from the spell at the words, the Maou stared at his goblet of wine, his hand on the blonde’s hip quickly pulling away as if burned.

Mayhap the alcohol was getting to his head. Mayhap it was the reason for his sudden jealousy.

Jealousy?

No. It could not be, could it?

_I am becoming careless._

The Maou stood abruptly and left Wolfram and Alberic there, ignoring the questioning staff and brushing past the other guests and concubines. He marched quickly out the room, into the hall and out the garden. Once there, he summoned his water element and poured the liquid over his head to clear all the excellent wine out of his brain.

 _Damn you_ , the Maou thought, blaming his human counterpart, who resided deep within him. _This is all your doing! I’m certain of it._

It had to be.

~*~

Wolfram sat there, watching the door the Maou had run out from, expecting, hoping, to see his King again. Any moment now. He had wanted to dash after, but felt obligated to remain a good host, now that the King was gone.

Wolfram took this time to study the older man. Eyes as amber as the radiant sunset, wheat-blonde hair skimming the width of his shoulders. He smelled of soap, a fresh new bath robe of deep green linen, the color striking against the sun-touched hue of his skin. Wolfram’s gaze traveled down the man open kimono, chest and belly well sculpted.

The man was indeed attractive, and Wolfram tried to ignore the fast beat of his pulse. Yet something about this man Alberic made him feel guarded.

“It surprises me to find out the king is engaged, and to another man at that,” Alberic said suddenly, a smile on his face, breaking Wolfram from his thoughts. He chuckled at the soft glare Wolfram gave him and added quickly, “Oh, don’t look that way, pigeon. I am not prejudiced. For as long as I have known the Demon King, I only found it odd since he prefers the company of women.”

As soon as the word “women” was uttered, Wolfram’s face froze.

_Women?_

“Quite an easy feat seeing as how he prefers his living quarters here inside the bath house.” Wolfram gaped a little, eyes wide. “I’m sure there isn’t a girl here who has not shared the King’s bed.”

Wolfram recalled how Murata had mentioned that the King preferred his stay at the bathhouse and that is the reason the main castle was unused most of the year.

“Don’t worry, as soon as one of them grows attached to him, he’ll discard them and find another.” He leaned in, the table creaking underneath his weight as he whispered, “Once he’s had you, I’m sure he will not hesitate to do the same, so you best run while you can.”

There was a moment of frozen silence, and then to Alberic’s shock, Wolfram began to laugh. “I know less about you than my fiancée, sir. You expect me to believe such a thing?”

Though Wolfram made his tone sound skeptic of Alberic’s words, the laughter was only to hide the sudden tightness in his chest that only seemed to grow at every word the lord spoke.

“Have you ever been inside his chambers?” Alberic asked suddenly, with a smug and confident grin on his face that only irked Wolfram’s anger...and heightened his fear. “If you have not, be ready to see more than you wish to when it comes to your husband-to-be. His harem is always in there at his beck and call. Always.”

_Harem?_

“I advise you not look for hope of this being anything more than a marriage of law.” Leaning back on his chair, Alberic dared a glance to Wolfram’s body yet again.

And I advise you not to stick your pompous nose into things that are not any of your business! Wolfram wanted to respond, but remained silent, for at that moment Murata came from behind him.

Alberic looked up at the man known to all as the Great Sage. Murata Ken, the King’s secretary, his right and left hand, the most trusted servant of the feared demon king.

Murata forced himself to look calm, yet his mind was a bundle of worry. If the staff here though the Maou was an avid lover in bed, they did not know of Alan Alberic of Irrison. This man was trouble. And the difference with him was if the man caught sight of a fresh, young body to ravish, he did not care for gender.

It seemed the rumors about this person were true by the way the man’s touch had lingered on Wolfram, those amber eyes that seemed to undress the prince with each glance—‘twas obvious the man was heavy with lust. A man who better not relieve his lust on the King’s fiancée.

Nay. Not on his watch.

“Come, Bielefelt.” Wolfram jerked his head up in surprise, looking at him with silent question. “I’ll escort you back to your room.”

“Please, do.” Wolfram answered sharply.

Wolfram took Murata’s outstretched hand, glared at Alberic one last time, and allowed the Great Sage to lead him out of the baths, with his head held high.

~*~

The blue sky was fading quickly into darkness, the full moon beginning to climb into the sky and the cool breeze of spring evening blew gently.

“You’re looking happy, Bielefelt.” Murata noted as he walked beside him.

“I suppose I am.”

Truth be told, Wolfram could not banish the smile off his face. The way the Maou had behaved so jealously, it gave Wolfram a sense of euphoria knowing his king felt so possessive of him. ‘Twas a good sign. An exceptionally good sign indeed.

Yet, gradually Wolfram’s smile faded, thinking back on all the things the man Alberic had said to him in the dinner party. He knew better than to listen to rumor and gossip, yet Wolfram could not help but dread the words to be true.

Were they true?

Wolfram gasped just as Yuuri turned the corner out of the gardens, banishing his worries.

“Yuuri!”

His human fiancée smiled lightly at the sight of the blonde prince running toward him but quickly the smile faded, his body stiffening as Wolfram embraced him unexpectedly. The stunned Yuuri awkwardly patted the other on the back and the blonde prince released him just as Murata approach them with an amused smile on his face.

At Murata’s discreet motion of his eyes, Yuuri quickly took hold of Wolfram’s hand in clumsy haste, and kissed it. This pleased Wolfram so much he kept Yuuri’s hand locked with his when Yuuri turned to Murata.

“Is the party over?” Yuuri asked, hopeful at first, but when Murata replied otherwise, his shoulders slumped in disappointment. “I—I had hoped not to go back…just yet. You know I’m not very good with those people and, um—”

Yuuri shifted his eyes from Wolfram and the ground, feeling ashamed at his unmanly behavior in front of the beautiful Mazoku who only fueled his nerves by the way Wolfram gazed at him quietly with a concerned smile.

 _Damn._ Yuuri thought. _I’m useless without **his** confidence._

“Then why don’t you escort Prince Wolfram to his room, Shibuya? I’ll go back in your stead to keep an eye on things until you feel ready to return.”

“Yes, he will. Right?” Wolfram asked, shaking Yuuri’s hand in his, encouraging him.

Yuuri gulped and forced a smile, somewhat relived. “R-right.”

Murata chuckled softly as Wolfram pulled Yuuri to the path of the main castle.

“Wolf.” Yuuri began. “Are you…happy here?”

Wolfram squeezed his hand. “I am when you are with me, Yuuri.”

“You’re not still doing chores in the bath house, are you?”

“No.” Wolfram shook his head. “Murata won’t let me anymore. He said you said not to.”

“I did.”

“The bath house is well-organized.” Wolfram commented, suddenly.

“Yes, I employ hundreds of servants to keep the place running. Though, I don’t believe I would have gotten this far without Murata’s aid.”

Wolfram asked about the empty rooms of the main castle.

“I did not wish to have the working servants live there. Not with the kind of jobs I knew the bath house would entitle. Which is why I give them the rooms at the bath house. Some are decent servant’s quarters,” he said uncomfortably. “And many are for the use of…er…house wenches.”

“You mean the bath maids.”

“Yes.”

Wolfram nodded matter-of-factly. He knew well of vice and sin and had sympathy for people enslaved by prostitution. He did not like the idea of his king increasing his wealth by procurement.

“You take profit from them?”

“No. They add ambiance to the bath house. And they serve as added enticement to the patrons. Any monetary tips they make I allow them to keep.”

When they reached the castle, Yuuri stared at the sumptuous entrance hall, his expression transformed with wonder.

“This place feels so distant yet familiar,” Yuuri whispered, his voice echoing in the empty vastness of the halls as he followed Wolfram up the stairs. “I’ve not been here in a long time…”

“Murata said you prefer your room in the bath house.”

Unbeknownst to Wolfram, Yuuri stiffened. “Um…what else has Murata told you?”

“That you do so to keep a close eye on things there. And I suppose you must, being that the main bath house is so big.” Wolfram glanced at him over his shoulder. “You’d want to be close by in case there’s trouble, right?”

“Right.” Yuuri cleared throat.

Wolfram turned his head to look straight ahead again, ignoring his sense of doubt at Yuuri’s words. And Yuuri was grateful Wolfram’s questions about the bath house stopped, yet Wolfram’s sudden silence added to his fear as a tremor ran through him.

 _Oh, God,_ how would Wolfram take news of the Maou’s previous escapades with the girls of the bath house? Everyone knew of this, even Murata, all except Wolfram it seemed. He was certain the prince would feel betrayed, made a fool of if he ever found out. This was the reason he had avoided Wolfram, too. The Maou’s sins were just as much his and it wasn’t fair for Wolfram who had come to him an innocent, with hopes and longing of a faithful husband.

The Maou wasn’t that—not at all.

“Up here is my room,” the prince said somewhat cheerfully. He opened the door located at the central end of the hall. “Murata’s room is just down the stairs around the corner.”

“He told me. And I’m relieved he is keeping you company here. And I’m sorry that I’m—” Yuuri paused for a short second to think of a lie as he sat on the corner of Wolfram’s bed. Hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. “—I’m much too busy.”

Wolfram made quick work of gathering his night clothes, then made his way behind the changing screen in the corner. “I know, don’t worry about it. It is your duty as a good king.”

Yuuri bit his lip, staring at the carpeted floor. He did not deserve such praise. And coming from Wolfram, the lie and his secret made him feel even more…unworthy of the sweet prince.

He looked about the large bedroom. Murata had ensured Wolfram had the best room, with a balcony overlooking the gardens, far away from the sounds and ruckus of the bath house. A large bed cradled in rich velvet curtains that were held at the four corners of the bed, warm carpet, a large wooden wardrobe, a large fireplace. He noticed the prince’s trunk, the lid open revealing the books inside, reminding him of what Wolfram had told the Maou that morning.

Yuuri looked up when Wolfram came out wearing a long-sleeved, white loose blouse and knee-length soft black pants and with no shoes. He grinned briefly at Yuuri, giving him a show of a light twirl before sitting down in front of the mirror. Yuuri smiled softly at the childish act and then stared in silent study as Wolfram brushed his golden locks until they shone, then stood up once done.

Yuuri’s smile faded quickly as Wolfram approached him. Yuuri straightening his back when Wolfram sat quietly beside him. The blonde prince reached up a hand, stroking Yuuri’s short hair behind his neck and then leaned in, lips pursed, ready for a kiss.

Yuuri turned his head away, standing up quickly before their lips could make contact. Wolfram remained sitting there quizzically, eyes wide and worried. “Something wrong?”

Yuuri heaved a little, ignoring the pounding of his heart. “It’s, um, too soon for that.”

Wolfram’s cheeks warmed, embarrassed. “Oh. I’m sorry for being so forward.”

Yuuri made his way back to the door, walking backwards. “I-I’ll tell Murata to dismiss the guests. I’m tired. So, I’ll just go back to my room.”

Wolfram stood from the bed and reached for a pillow. “Is it ok if I go sleep beside you?”

Yuuri’s stomach made a jolt. “No!” he said quickly, the intense tone of his voice making Wolfram pause. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to calm down, and gentle his voice. “Um, no. You may not.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m your fiancée and—”

“I’d rather you not—”

“Why?”

“Because I said so—So, just…just stay in your room here and I’ll go back to mine. Please!”

Wolfram put his pillow back in its place on the bed, not taking his eyes off Yuuri, who nodded when he saw this.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He bowed quickly and out the door he went.

Wolfram stood there quietly and just as he was about to sit upon the bed, he heard footsteps. He stared quizzically as Yuuri rushed in toward him, took hold of Wolfram’s hand, and kissed it quickly, saying, “Goodnight, Wolf.”

The sound of footsteps racing down the stairs and the main door of the castle slamming shut signaled Yuuri’s departure. Wolfram chuckled inwardly at his human fiancée’s goofy awkwardness, shaking his head to himself.

_Wimp._

He looked out his window, watching Yuuri race down the path they had come in and finally disappear inside the bath house.

The way Yuuri had adamantly refused for Wolfram to go into his room aroused the suspicion that perhaps it was true about his King and women—

Wolfram shook his thoughts away, inwardly convincing himself that this Alberic was only trying to create a rift between him and his king by the way the man blatantly touched him and leered at him.

He told himself Yuuri was not ready for the next step—Yuuri being human. That perhaps his King needed more time.

Yes, that was it.

~*~

Yuuri entered his private room in the bath house, laying upon the huge bed with a sigh.

The Maou had fancied the company of women and would sate his physical urges with the concubines of the bath house before he and Wolfram became betrothed. The week before Wolfram’s arrival Yuuri had to pull teeth with his demon counterpart to forbid the women from entering his private room in the bath house. He gave order to both staff and concubines that they remain quiet of his past vices from his fiancée if they wished to remain in his employ, to which they had all agreed.

Yuuri had felt his soul jump out his skin the moment Wolfram had asked to sleep in his room in the bathhouse. He had shared that room with the random women who laid with him before. And although he liked the idea of sleeping beside his fiancée, Wolfram was far too special and did not want him to step foot in there.

Nay.

He had emptied the main castle for a reason, wishing to only share the castle with the person he’d live his life with. And for the first time, he was beginning to imagine Wolfram being that person. If they would one day share a room together it would most definitely not be this one.

He was thankful Wolfram remained unaware and had not urged him into entering his private chambers where the concubines had once resided.

Yet with every sincere word Wolfram confessed to him every day since, Yuuri felt two things: Happiness at confirming the prince’s feelings for him and guilty for the silence of the secret he knew to hide from Wolfram about the Demon King.


	4. Chapter Three: Rain and Fire

**Chapter Three: Rain and Fire**

The Maou crossed his arms and watched Wolfram and Murata in the gardens from his window. Though he continued to ignore the feelings only Wolfram roused in him, the fear of letting it grow to something he always tried to avoid, persisted. He was frightened of what would happen if he let Wolfram love him completely. And let himself love Wolfram in return.

 _He is dangerous._ A threat to his care-free bachelor lifestyle that had been his oasis of freedom.

It was obvious his human counterpart had easily been charmed by the Mazoku prince and the Maou was convinced this was the reason why lately he’d begun to change his mind, as well.

He had taken the Sage’s advice and spend hours throughout his day with Wolfram. Lavishing in the affection the beauty harbored so transparently for him. Their walks about the estate that at first were kept at a distance; bodies barely touching. Now he allowed Wolfram to cling to his arm as he went about overseeing the management of the local bath houses. He wouldn’t object when Wolfram tentatively twined their hands together and in the late moonlit evening walks, he’d furtively breathe in the scent of golden curls as Wolfram’s head lay upon his shoulder.

 _It’s not **that** kind of desire,_ he’d tell himself. Not the kind caught up in quick heated moments that burned out quickly. This was something…something he did not know what it was but was very much wanted.

Wolfram’s presence gave him a certain comfort he did not know he lacked. Or expect to miss. The need to see Wolfram was so great, that in the late hour past midnight, he would slip out of bed and warily make his way to the main castle. Then quietly climb the stairs until he reached Wolfram’s dark room, opened it and slid inside.

Wolfram had pushed the covers down the edge of the bed again and the Maou would stare at soft parted lips, eyes closed, long lashes giving him a serene look. His obsidian eyes taking in Wolfram’s sleeping form as he lay in a pool of moonlight, modestly garbed in the same night clothes as when he first entered the price’s room.

Even when his mind stubbornly complained of it, his heart beat anxiously to the fact that this person would spend his days at his side again tomorrow. And by the end of the year, share his life. The idea in the beginning was frightening, yet, now it seemed a desirable possibility. But…

What if Wolfram’s affection for him was only a passing fancy? What if, once Wolfram knew him well enough, the prince would find him a bore? like Alberic had told him.

He recalled that night well, just after he had escorted Wolfram to his room at the castle. Murata met the Maou at the entrance of the room, the concubines and Alberic’s troops were gradually leaving the dinner party and among the low bustle of drunken laughter and light conversation, Alberic lingered behind.

“I thought you the least willing to commit to vows and such,” he said to the Maou. “Especially when the one you marry is _picked_ out for you.”

Irritation flared.

The Maou moved closer, piercing his obsidian eyes with Alberic’s golden ones. “You were betrothed once, you should know.”

“Yes, and now I am not, thankfully. And you should take heed from my experience. After the honeymoon bliss, you’ll see how easily they get bored with you. Only a passing fancy, that’s all it is.”

The Maou inhaled. The more he thought of Alberic’s words, the more he believed the man to be right. And more pressing the need was to escape.

The sweet prince had been patient, understanding—loyal. And as much as he convinced himself otherwise, the Maou did not feel worthy of all Wolfram had to offer. And just as impulsively as he had visited Wolfram’s room at nights, the idea of letting Wolfram into his heart burned out again.

Somehow, he’d have to keep Wolfram at a distance before his human’s feelings ran their wild course again, threatening to break the wall he’d built over his heart all these years—

_Whatever you are thinking, I refuse to be part of it._

The Maou growled as Yuuri interrupted his thoughts.

_I **like** Wolfram and I respect him—I’ll not have him be cross with me because of you—_

I am not asking for your permission! the Maou snapped brutally. You _will_ do as I say.

Yuuri gulped inwardly as uncertainty swelled in his chest, mingled with fear.

~*~

“I didn’t know you painted,” Wolfram said suddenly, a little flustered as he tried his best not to move so much as Murata sketched him.

“I don’t. Well…” Murata cleared his throat, wondering how much he should reveal about himself. But it was Wolfram and he trusted the meek prince he’d come to know. “I did a couple of decades ago. It was a hobby I had in…a previous life.”

A previous life…

Wolfram thought of Yuuri then, how his human fiancée said something similar a while back. He and Murata at times seemed to have similar ways of speaking—this forced a small smile on Wolfram’s lips.

“What are you thinking?” Murata inquired, looking at him from his sketchbook.

Wolfram shook his head, the smile still there. “Nothing.”

“Is it _him_ in your mind, again?” Murata said, giving him a small flirty smile, pushing his glasses up.

Wolfram shook his head again.

“Well, keep thinking it, then. I want to capture that sweet smile of yours and show it off to Shibuya,” said Murata, winking at Wolfram and going back to his sketch.

Wolfram watched Murata, pausing briefly, then asking slowly, “You were friends with Yuuri?”

Murata sighed gently. “Yes. A long time ago.” His voice held a tone of sadness, that was quickly dismissed.

“Excuse me, Your Eminence.” Both men turned to one of the guards who at that moment appeared by the edge of the garden. He bowed, acknowledging them both before speaking. “The King wishes to see his fiancée.”

Wolfram felt a sense of déjà vu, but his excitement quickly banished the feeling, knowing Yuuri asked for him again. He and Murata got up from their chairs, Wolfram smiling widely, and Murata a hard frown.

“When did the King decide this?” Murata asked, for he had not heard of this from Shibuya personally. Not like other times. And he had learned that anything the King did out of impulse without telling him was never a good sign.

“Just now, sir.”

Murata frowned harder, glancing at Wolfram who was already tugging his sleeve in anxious excitement.

“I’ll go get ready,” the prince informed him happily, dashing away until all Murata could see was the flutter of golden hair disappearing into the castle. Murata was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. He tried to ignore the pending doom he felt was drawing near.

~*~

Yuuri thumped his fingers nervously upon the low central table in one of the dining rooms inside the bath house. It was a traditional style ryokan room, with tatami matt flooring and a nice view of a small koi pond just outside.

Someone had politely brought up green tea for him earlier, to which he all too quickly finished as he waited. Too restless to sit still, Yuuri rose from the _zaisu_ (chair without legs) and prowled over the window. He turned at the sound of one of the bath maids that came in with a fresh pot of green tea and tea cakes for his bethrothed.

“Is there anything else you want, milord?” she asked, blatantly bending forward in a saucy display as her breasts peeked out from her open kimono. Yuuri glanced briefly at them, though he had to admit the sight did nothing to rouse him anymore.

“Nay.”

How had he ever been so receptive to such cheap offers from servant girls before? Now, if Wolfram made so exquisite an offer it’d be different. Quite different indeed.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Nothing more_ ,” came the Maou’s voice sternly, through gritted teeth. He turned his back to her to stare out the window again. And as he hoped, the girl heard the warning and questioned him no more.

She bowed her head in understanding before stopping at the open door to glance at the King one last time. And realizing she was not going to be acknowledged, left. She refused to look at the two guards standing on either side of the room for fear of seeing their expression at hearing her be rebuffed. Upon hearing steady footsteps in the hallway she had come to, she turned to see the Great Sage walk in her direction, followed closely by the blonde prince.

She scoffed inwardly, her eyes briefly raking over the prince’s royal attire and how well they suited him. Noting his blonde hair and glowing sapphire eyes and that annoying innocent and shy smile that he always wore. She had grown tired of the gossip from the other maids as they cackled the evenings through their dinner in the kitchen:

“They’d make a grand pair.”

“The prince is so sweet—he’d definitely melt the King’s heart!”

“If the prince has his way, I’m sure he’d have the King wrapped ‘round his finger!”

Even the main chef of the kitchen, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, broke in impulsively. “Aye! The King has been alone too long. And when they marry, I’ll be sure to cook the finest dinner!”

The sound of their laughter annoyed her. The prince annoyed her the most. Ever since the King’s engagement to this prince, she had been ignored. Treated like all other maids. Forced to return to her old duties. Unlike before—

“Alice,” Murata acknowledged as he continued to lead Wolfram. She dipped into a curtsey as Murata passed her and sent Wolfram a brief acid glance before scurrying away.

Wolfram glanced over his shoulder at her, slightly questioning if he truly saw such act of rudeness but was quickly forgotten about as they reached their destination. The guards bowing at his presence.

“Go on in, Bielefelt,” Murata said calmly, motioning toward the open door.

And there stood Yuuri, cladded in a fine black kimono and looking so handsome. Rooted to the spot at the sight, Murata gave the blonde a slight push before sliding the door closed. Giving them privacy. Murata stayed there behind the door briefly, thinking _Shibuya, do not do anything rash_ , before leaving completely.

“Come,” Yuuri ordered softly, smiling warily. Wolfram went to him with uncertainty in his wide emerald eyes. Reaching for Yuuri’s outstretched hand, the blonde stopped at arms’ length.

Yuuri drew the prince to him, kissing the blonde’s hand briefly. “Tell me, what would you like to do today?”

Wolfram shrugged. “Anything, as long as I’m with you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri trembled a little as Wolfram breathed his name. He looked up to see the Mazoku staring into his eyes with such trust, he forced himself to look away briefly, grinning softly. “You are easy, aren’t you?”

He flinched when Wolfram reached up a hand behind his neck, brushing the soft hair there with his thumb and whispered to him, “Only with you.”

Yuuri felt his heart in his throat, frozen cold. _Don’t tell me that…_

Caught up in his jumbled thoughts, Yuuri gasped when he felt just the feathered graze of Wolfram’s lips on his before he pulled away, his feet clumsily backing to the window.

Seeing his external distress Wolfram grew concerned and though his face warmed, he bravely spoke his mind. “Yuuri, it’s been long enough. Is it still… _too soon_ for you?”

Yuuri shook his head softly, then quickly nodded. He turned away, gulping air, feeling his heart ready to burst. He felt ashamed at how his voice came out wobbly and breathy.

“I-It’s not that. It’s just, um…”

“What is it?”

Wolfram waited. Whatever Yuuri would reveal to him could not be rushed. And still, by the somber look on Yuuri’s face, he got the uneasy feeling he was not going to like what the other was preparing to tell him.

“First, I need to say something to you,” Yuuri began, already feeling his palms sweaty at how tightly he continued holding Wolfram’s hands in his as they kneeled to the floor.

“Allright.”

He had made up a plan in his head on how he was going to do this. How he was going to say what needed to be said without hurting the prince’s feelings. But he had heard before that nothing ever went as planned, no matter how well you prepare. Well, this was it.

“I called you because,” Yuuri began, still holding himself tightly inside. “I…I cannot accept you.”

Wolfram sighed, giving Yuuri such a heartbreaking look. “I thought…I thought things were going well. Do you dislike me because of my… _inexperience_? I could practice—”

“No!” The Maou’s obsidian eyes flashed briefly before Yuuri composed himself, more calmly. “No. I just…cannot see myself attached to anyone. I thought I could go through this, but I found I cannot.”

Wolfram watched Yuuri’s reaction quietly and had not missed the Maou’s temper, either He stared intently at Yuuri, noticing his fists balled up, his eyes glossy and uncertain, sweat gleaming his temple. The man was a nervous wreck, Wolfram was suspicious.

“What is going on, Yuuri? Tell me the truth.”

Yuuri puffed his chest. “The truth? The truth is I did not want this in the first place.”

It was partially true. He did think that in the beginning, but the words were out before he could properly and calmly think. He truly did not wish for Wolfram to dislike him; now it was too late. He couldn’t stop his venting now that it was out.

“Why do you think Murata was so insistent on us seeing each other? He was the one who arranged this…this _union_.”

Wolfram felt is heart sink. “I was told it was _you_.”

“Of course not!"

“E-even if it is as you say,” Wolfram affirmed softly, his eyes glazed. “I still want to be with you. I _like_ you, Yuuri. You _know_ I do.”

“I know and I’m sorry, I really am, but I just…I can’t!”

“You’re lying,” Wolfram said, shaking his head. He reached for Yuuri, holding him at arms’ length when Yuuri struggled to move away from him. “Is it your other self? Is _he_ the one telling you to say this to me?”

Yuuri’s chest heaved at every word and all the bubble of emotions within him. He’d been found out; how could he be so easily read by this person?

“It is, isn’t it? Bring the coward out! Let him be the one to tell me!” When Yuuri didn’t answer, Wolfram pushed more. “You’d let me go that easily, Yuuri? You won’t even _try_ to give us a chance?”

Wolfram watched as Yuuri turned away in shame. 

“I’m more disappointed than shocked. Now I see how easily your other-self has control over you.”

Yuuri looked up then, eyes wide. “He does not control me,” he countered.

“Oh, yes he does. Have more confidence in yourself, like Murata. He does not let anyone control him. Not you or your other self, I’m sure.”

No one liked being compared to anyone. And Yuuri certainly did not like Wolfram comparing him to Murata. “Dammit, Wolf, you don’t understand how hard I’ve tried to be patient with you!”

Wolfram gasped, shocked. “ _You’ve_ been patient—?”

“Yes, I’ve been patient! And all you have done is…torment me! Why can’t things be like before?”

“You mean before you met me?”

“Yes! Everything was as it should have been! I was at peace!”

_What am I saying?_

A pause.

Wolfram stood from the floor in a huff, looking down at Yuuri who remained on the floor. “You’re cruel, sir. Letting me be with you, letting our time together be so special to me and yet nothing for you—”

“I said no such thing—”

“If it were possible to hate you, I would! Because liking you is getting to be too painful!”

“Wolf—”

“Then its agreed. If I’ve ruined your present life so much, then you are right. You shouldn’t accept me.”

Yuuri watched as the blonde Mazoku ran out of the room.

Dammit.

Yuuri gripped his chest through the fabric of his kimono, teeth gritted. _My chest hurts…like it’s being torn apart._

He recalled Wolfram’s face, the hurt there. And the pure impulse of wanting to touch Wolfram. To run out of the room, chase the beauty, catch, and kiss him. Tell him it was all a lie, like he said. Ravish him there, in the hallway, on the corner, by the window—show him how much he’s desired the Mazoku, but…

The guards at the door startled awake as the Maou opened his bedroom door. Heaving with hot fury and his eyes black as coal.

“Your Majesty?” one of the men braved to ask. “B-be you in need of anything?”

The Maou’s glaring snake-like eyes directed at him. “Bring me my concubines.”

“But, sir,” the man began tentatively. “You forbade them to service you anymore. You—”

“I said bring them to me!”

~*~

Thunder sounded far in the distance, announcing the coming rain. Wolfram stared out the large window from his bed, watching how the lightning flickered without a sound, brightening the sky white for an instant. No rain yet, though.

Wolfram had not been asleep. How could he sleep with all his emotions whirling about in his head? Refusing to go away and making his stomach churn and his head ache. He tried to stay angry, forced himself to feel fury like any normal fiancée would be. But his heart would not listen. Every primal instinct in his body told him to go back to Yuuri and his King. Demanding to see him. Needing to. With the wild thought that perhaps he could change his king’s mind. And his own.

_‘You’ll let me go that easily? You won’t even try to give us a chance?’_

His own words went against him. He had let fear and responsibility rule his life from the moment of his birth. No more.

Against his will, Wolfram swung his legs on the side of the bed and lit a candle. Pulling a blue coverlet over his nightie and eased the door open and peeked out. Seeing no one, he slipped into the hall and held his candle high. Still no one. In his bare feet he padded quietly into Murata’s room just a few doors down and peeked in just slightly. Seeing the man lie lost in slumber, Wolfram returned to the hallway.

He rushed out of the castle and inside the dark main bathhouse, letting his cloak fall on the floor as he made his way up the stairs and onto the empty halls. He only just realized he did not know where his King’s chambers were; and was questioning himself on what to do when he noticed the same room he was escorted to earlier that day. Warm light was visible through the low crack of the door and as he approached it, he heard the muffled voice of his King and thought it odd the guards who were there earlier gone. Wolfram lifted his hand to knock but stood frozen by indecision and fear.

Was his king awake, or asleep in there? And if he was asleep, did Wolfram want to wake him? If his King wasn’t asleep, then what? What if the king refused him again…what if he _didn’t_?

The positive thought overcame his fears, and Wolfram opened the door, courage renewed.

~*~

The Maou sat there, unmoving as the harlot licked and teased at his cock. The Maou, so used to her usual robotic foreplay, ignored the sensation. His thoughts clouded and full of only one person: Wolfram.

He imagined briefly it was Wolfram’s mouth on him, yet quickly brushed the thought away. The mouth on him was clearly experienced and he knew well the prince was untouched. Innocent.

This fact was obvious by the blonde’s awkward shyness, how easily his cheeks burned red each time the Maou caught him staring. The longing there, and the trusting smile. The way Wolfram’s voice whispered his name. Those lips and those beautiful green eyes. What color would they become in throes of passion? What songs would his bird sing lost in the oblivion of sex? What would he feel like in orgasm?

The lewd thoughts made the Maou’s mouth water, and his groin ache unbearably. He did not even realize he had become hard.

“My, you’re eager today, Your Majesty,” one the whore’s said smirking coyly, thinking she was that attractive and her skills were perfect to entice such a hard-on. Yet the moment was not long lived as the Maou pushed her head roughly down his lap again.

“Shut up and keep working!” he snapped, returning to his thoughts.

 _If it were anyone else, I’d have taken him in a single breath,_ the Maou reasoned with himself.

Yet…

Just then, his human counterpart, Yuuri, took over his thoughts. Recalling all the evenings he spent with Wolfram. Wolfram’s warm touch when the blonde grasped his hand and the shy affection in his unguarded eyes. The laughter they both shared the day they spared. The love Wolfram was willingly giving to him, so freely. So purely.

 _For the first time in my life_ , the Maou confessed inwardly. _I do not feel I am worthy of someone as pure as him._

Just as the thought struck him, the Maou perked his ears and looked toward his chamber door. It creaked open and his breath caught. There, cladded in nothing but his nightie, golden locks loose and beautifully messy, stood Wolfram.

The light of the candle revealing the big, shocked, wide green of his eyes.

The Maou gulped, panic consuming his being. Yet, just as quick, he hardened his features and let his cold demeanor darken his eyes, like a wolf sizing up a lamb.

~*~

“What the hell do you want?”

“Uh…” Wolfram’s voice came out strangled, and he cleared his throat, feeling his heart pushed out of his throat. “I-I didn’t know if you were sleeping…I didn’t…”

He stopped in mid-sentence and looked into the Maou’s eyes. His chest tight and suddenly struggling to pull and push air from his lungs.

Those obsidian eyes for the first time, looked at Wolfram with such a cold gaze. The woman sprawled on his lap, naked, pleasing him, looked up at him as well, her eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

Wolfram felt his breath cut short.

It was true…the Maou and his women…

Alberic was right.

 _No. No,_ Wolfram thought, denying his eyes and the truth—fighting the urge to cry. _No, Alberic was wrong..._

He watched as the Maou stand up and march toward him naked and hard. Wolfram stepped back a bit, startled at his King’s nakedness, the candle in his hand falling to the floor, and going out. His heart pumped wildly as the Maou’s large hands gripped his shoulders.

“ _Leave_.”

The Maou pushed again, harder, yet Wolfram remained stubbornly rooted to the spot. Not wanting to leave and shaking his head profusely.

Those emerald eyes, misting with hurt, focused solely on him.

 _Don’t look at me like that!_ Yuuri screamed inwardly.

Wolfram’s voice whispered low and shaken. “This is not the _real_ you…”

Wolfram reached up, gliding his fingers over the Maou’s bare chest, sniffling. The Maou secretly savored the heated touch as Wolfram reached up his neck and rubbed the skin there gently with his thumb.

 _Just take him away_ , Wolfram thought, desperately, tangling his fingers on the Maou’s hand. _Take him far away from that woman. Just grab him and go!_

Suddenly his king slapped Wolfram’s hand away.

“I said _leave_ ,” the Maou growled, firmly. “I wish for you to leave!”

Despite the angry sound of his voice, Yuuri gently pushed Wolfram out onto the hall by his chest. His palm feeling the softness beneath the light gown, and the rapid beat of Wolfram’s heart.

“And I wish I could’ve been someone that you would…desire,” Wolfram said in misery, feeling his cheeks burn at his confession.

 _You think I do not want you?_ the Maou thought hoarsely. _Pet, you have no idea._

How many nights had he spent awake watching Wolfram sleep, imagining digging his hands on those soft golden curls, bending the prince’s body to his, tasting the white flesh with his mouth, tongue and teeth. Masturbating to the inventive image of transforming Wolfram’s serene look into one of scorching desire.

Desire for him.

The sweet Mazoku before him inspired more thoughts of sin than the nameless harlots he’d taken to bed over the course of the years!

Of all the women he had known, none have ever piqued his interest or affected him like this. He had used women for pleasure and had them use him, as well. This game of his has been understood by all his partners, but it seemed Wolfram von Bielefelt did not realize it.

If it was the only decent thing he ever did, both Yuuri and the Maou agreed they would protect the prince from his unworthy self.

Even if it meant keeping Wolfram at a distance with his lies.

The Maou leaned forward, his voice hard and firm as he said, “Well, you are not.”

_What am I saying?_

Wolfram looked at him then and the tears that finally poured down his cheeks made Yuuri pause. His human fiancée came to the fore, his face changing before Wolfram’s eyes. Yuuri reached over, both his hands hovering just a few inches from Wolfram’s face, as if debating whether to touch him or not.

“No, please, don’t…” Yuuri cooed softly, his brown, piteous eyes wounding Wolfram more. He stepped closer to the blonde who only shook his head.

“Don’t touch me, I don’t want your pity!” Wolfram cried softly, backing out and away from him, the prince’s action stabbing at something in his chest. “I trusted you with my heart!” Wolfram’s sorrowful words filled Yuuri’s conscious with even more guilt. “My everything...”

Those green eyes wide and wet was the last the Maou saw Wolfram himself slammed his door shut. Yuuri stood there, unmoving for a moment.

Listening.

He leaned a bit toward the closed door and heard a soft clinking noise, then the bare padding of feet as they ran away, fading quickly.

 _There._ He had scared his prince away.

Yuuri opened the door and peeked his head out onto the now empty hallway. Wolfram was gone. He looked down to where the candle and holder fell and only saw the slight hardened spot of wax. Wolfram had taken the candle and holder with him.

He wanted to roll his eyes at the absurdity as to why but could not bring himself to do it. He sighed, guilt settling. And anger. And self-loathing of how his soul pleaded for Wolfram, while his cold lips uttered, _Go away_.

Sex was futile now.

He kicked the small lantern on the floor with a frustrated cry, darkening the room. Then turned to the harlot still there with him and marched toward her, pulling her roughly up of the floor by the arm, ignoring her shocked cries.

“Enough of this! You’re useless!” The Maou pointed at the door, his voice bursting with a fiery rage. “Get out! _Now, I say_!”

Gathering her crumpled clothes and clumsily wrapping herself with it, the woman ran out, not looking back.

As soon as she left, Yuuri covered his face with his hands, kneeling on the floor, just as thunder exploded in the twilight sky, and the rain finally arrived.

~*~

I don’t love him. I don’t love him…

Hate him, let me hate him! he pleaded to his heart. Please, _hate_ him…

Wolfram repeated the words in his head over and over all throughout the night, like a sorrowful melody that eventually gave out to deep sleep. 

The next day had come with gray, cloudy skies; the light of the sun hidden away by the coming storm that threatened to approach soon, mirroring the emotions in Wolfram’s soul. Though he felt Yuuri had not meant what he said, it still hurt to hear the cruel words to his face.

 _Perhaps if I were more different_. Someone who radiated sexiness and confidence…

If only—

A knock and then the creaking of his bedroom door opened but Wolfram paid no mind, for he already knew who it was.

“Prince Bielefelt, breakfast is here,” came Murata’s solemn voice from above him. Wolfram ignored him, continuing his pondering in obvious state of hurt and anger.

“I don’t want anything!” Wolfram cried, holding a hand over his mouth to stem the sobs that threatened to erupt. Murata stepped aside as Wolfram suddenly stormed out of the room. In his blinding rage and sadness, the prince did not realize Murata following him.

Outside, the morning was hidden by dark clouds, and winds rattled the trees and the bushes and Wolfram’s hair. It seemed the storm from last night would continue its rage today, too. Like the similar storm that raged inside Wolfram.

Wolfram made his way to the garden courtyard, and once there, sat on the corner benches and continued sobbing, silently this time. He was out in the open and did not wish anyone to witness the mess he had become. Inside and out.

He was swamped with self-pity, felt humiliated. Angry of how he had let himself be so naïve, so easily ensnared by thoughts and hopes of love; now only suppressed by hatred to the man who rejected him. He had felt anger before, but never this burning fury. A few months ago, he would not have thought himself capable of it. The ache in his heart was too much. Yuuri’s rejection, and now the Maou’s rejection—both equally as painful.

Murata gulped quietly, his own heart pitying the young blonde. Seeing him so vulnerable, so sad, and miserable. Wolfram’s fragility was obviously hidden by his stubbornness. Whatever happened last night took a twisted turn that formed a dark hostility between the two people Murata thought were at last star crossed.

What could have happened?

Murata sat quietly beside the sobbing prince and Wolfram took advantage of the Sage’s nearness and clung to him, his arms winding around Murata’s chest. The action so unexpected and shocking them both.

“I saw him last night with a woman! He looked at me with no shame—no indifference,” Wolfram started, feeling the other stiffen in his sudden embrace, but gradually softened, and patted his back. “He didn’t even _care_ that I was there to see it. He merely pushed me away and said I was never desirable to him.”

Murata had hoped to spare Wolfram any grief by not telling him about the Maou’s past rendezvous with women—yet it seemed he had again failed the prince. Perhaps if he had told Wolfram this fact earlier, before the blonde’s feeling for the King grew deeper with each day, Wolfram would not be suffering so right now.

“I know you believe there is no hope, but I promise to fix this.” Murata said as Wolfram shook his head.

“You can’t fix _me_.”

“Oh, but I can…if you let me.”

Murata reached inside one of his sleeves and pulled out a gold necklace with a red jewel hanging in the middle. He had conjured magic on this trinket long ago as a form of experiment, with no intention of using it. Something he learned to do from a memory in a past life. He had hidden it away for fear it being used in the wrong hands but seeing that it was sweet Wolfram whom he decided to give it to, it should be harmless.

“All you need to do is wish upon this—whatever you want.”

Wolfram sniffled. He took the trinket in his hands, staring at the beauty of it with misty eyes. “Can I do that?”

Murata nodded. “When you feel ready.”

Wolfram inspected the heavy jewel in hand, twirling it in his fingers. Then looked up Murata and said tentatively, “No one…will get hurt?”

Murata smiled softly at him. “Of course not.”

“Yuuri…the King won’t be hurt either, right?”

Murata leaned in and to both their shock, kissed Wolfram on the forehead, then rested his chin on top of Wolfram’s head.

The affection the kiss held reminding Wolfram of the love his brothers and mother gave to console him in times he was…vulnerable. Vulnerable to his emotions. His heart. He has been told he always loved too easily—a flaw that he did not expect would cause him such pain.

“For a long time, the king wanted nothing to do with my friendship, so I know how good he is at shutting people out, especially those who care for him.” Murata explained. “It made him spiteful, seeking solace in his lonely freedom. That was the reason I advised the royal council he be arranged to wed, to one with a gentle and patient heart. Someone brave enough to face the unknown world that is his complex mind.”

Murata paused, and Wolfram gazed at him mystified.

“Your mother, who was part of the royal council suggested you be the one to at last thaw his armored heart. And you are more than he ever hoped to find in his fiancée. So, don’t be put out so easily. You have always held his attention from the start, and that is more than I can say for any woman I’ve seen with him.”

Wolfram held Murata again, both accepting each other’s embrace for a moment before Wolfram stood from the bench and thanked him. And there in the garden Wolfram decided to make one last attempt to woo his King. If that did not work, he would have to rely on the magic of the necklace. Only as a last resort.

“Is Yuuri in his room?” Wolfram asked cautiously, braving himself mentally, already feeling anxious of the thought of seeing Yuuri again.

Murata stood, brushing his long hair from his face as the wind blew hard, his face firm. “No. He took his stallion from the barn and left the castle grounds. He hasn’t been back since last night—where are you going?!”

Wolfram looked back at Murata who had grasped his wrist, stopping him before he had a chance to flee. The pitter patter of rain dripping gently from the sky at last.

“I _need_ to see him, Murata,” Wolfram stated. “I can’t wait for him to return!”

“In this coming storm?! Are you mad? Y-You don’t even know where he is!”

“I’ll find him!”

Not waiting a moment longer, Wolfram rushed to the stables.

~*~

Bruised and still, the Maou drifted in and out of consciousness, his eyes focusing on the dark clouds above. Small droplets of cold rain hit his nose, then his cheek and mouth. He licked off the wetness from his lips, suddenly thirsty. He sat on his elbows, bending his knees and groaning. The fall he had taken landed him on a ditch filled with fallen thick tree trunks and twigs.

The scent of wet earth filled his nose, just as the sight of his black stallion above the ditch on the hill came forward to greet him for few seconds before dashing away out of sight.

Last night, Yuuri had fled, the regret and memory of all he had said and done to Wolfram suffocating him to the extent he could not be at peace in that room in the bath house. And he would probably avoid that room now until the end of his days.

He had wasted no time that night, ordering a servant to saddle his stallion while he quickly changed into his riding attire. He had thrown open his wardrobe, pulling out random shirt, coat, and trousers. He did not care if his riding gloves matched, only pulled up his boots without drawing their lace, and hurried down the stairs.

Only when he was cantering his horse swiftly over the rolling hills and woods by the edge of town did he feel as though he could breathe again. If only a little.

The road was a pitch blackness, and when lightning split a tree open, the sound and the bolt of thunder spooked his horse, throwing him in the ditch in which he now awoke to. Which meant he had been unconscious, there in the woods, for who knew how long.

Good.

It was a form of punishment he supposed. He started making his way up the ditch just as he heard the trotting of a horse approaching him.

“You leave and then come back?” the Maou snapped at his horse. He slipped on his boot lace along with the wet mud but managed to balance himself before he continued trudging up the hill. “Is out of pity, you useless—"

The words were lost as the Maou raised his head, his breath catching in his throat at the sight before him. There, in front of him, standing beside his stallion, golden locks loose and beautifully blowing with the wind, stood Wolfram.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, the Maou gulped, flinching a bit as Wolfram approached him.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he scoffed, his tone coming out harsher than he intended to.

Wolfram inhaled a breath of courage before braving himself to speak, knowing to choose his words carefully. “I was told you never came back from your ride last night, so I came looking for you.”

“Did you walk here?” the Maou asked, noticing no other animal beside his own. “And how on earth did you find me?”

“I came with an escort on Murata’s insistence. We were about to question the villagers about you when I saw your stallion rushing toward us from the woods.” Wolfram patted the animal as he explained, the horse in turn nuzzling into his touch. “I send the escort back to the castle along with my horse with the message that I had found you. I knew your stallion would lead me to you and he did.”

“I could’ve been dead for all you knew.” The Maou muttered under his breath.

“Then I would’ve brought your body back either way.” Wolfram retorted back, hands on hips. His rosy face softly glaring at him and mouth pouting.

The Maou turned away, fearing Wolfram’s nearness would give away his true desire for the sweet scold before him. He kept reminding himself to keep away from the prince, to protect the chastity of the blonde Mazoku.

Green eyes softened as Wolfram noticed the King’s condition: filthy, clothes torn, and face pale. “You don’t look so good, sir. Here, let me help yo—"

The Maou pulled his arm away as Wolfram reached for it. “I don’t need your pity! I just…need to rest.”

“Don’t be stubborn. Come on, on your feet!”

Yuuri flinched at Wolfram’s touch, the prince lifting him off the ground with ease. Secretly enjoying how Wolfram clutched at one of his arms and cradled his back with the other. Steading him on his feet with a strength that made Yuuri feel helpless and weak. Forcing to banish his human’s thoughts, the Maou steeled himself, pushing Wolfram’s arms away from him. Wolfram led them to a nearby cave and watched as Wolfram settled himself at the entrance of the cave.

“Sit here with me,” he said, patting the empty spot beside him. “It’ll be warmer if we…”

The Maou ignored the gesture and sat propped on the wall on the opposite side of the cave, despite the pain on his back and shoulder.

Wolfram curled into his body, blushing in embarrassment of being ignored in such a way. He discreetly closed his hand around the jewel-encrusted chain and drew in a jagged breath. Overwhelmed by his sudden need to run away _and_ stay close to his king. His very soul crying out for the flaming touch of the man Wolfram thought he knew. A man who Wolfram had every reason to despise. And couldn’t.

Wolfram approached the Maou with a healing ointment. “This was made from a healing plant in the gardens of my homeland, where I’m from.” He gathered a bit in his palm. “You should have told me you were hurt—"

“I don’t need it.” The Maou snapped, turning away. One humiliation after the other in front of Wolfram was galling enough to last a lifetime.

“Stay still!”

Wolfram pulled him by the shoulder, gripping the Maou’s arm tight. The demon king looked away, refusing to look at the emerald eyes for fear that the kindness or pity he would see there, may break his resolve in trying to remain...distant. Cold. Unyielding.

Wolfram swallowed hard, his eyes traveling to the ardor display of the Maou’s hard, well-sculpted belly. One of his pale palms covering a hard pectoral; feeling the Maou’s hard breathing against it. Every nerve screamed rebelliously to—

“Why do you push yourself on me like this?” came the demon king’s firm voice. “You’re giving yourself false hope. Why don’t you just hate me and be done with it.”

Wolfram let out a slow and soft exhale. “Is that what you want?”

The Maou nodded. “It’d be best.”

“You mean best for _you_.”

“Listen,” the Maou said firmly. “I’m letting you go. You are to leave. For good.”

“Home?”

“That’s right. Go back to your family.”

“But _why_?” Wolfram asked. Humiliating tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

“Because I—” The Maou stopped, his breathing rattling his throat when he saw Wolfram staring at him with those glittering green eyes again that shook away his resolve. “I can’t—!”

“I don’t want to leave!” Wolfram said thickly.

In that moment, the Maou threw away the few meager scraps of honor he possessed. His rage burst forth at last, taking Wolfram unexpectedly by the thin wrist, turning him roughly. The Maou pressed his hand hard on the prince’s head, forcing him to bend his body flat on the rock’s flat surface.

“What do you want from me?! _This_ ,” he taunted with his body. Urging himself against the blonde’s clothed backside, giving him hard, crude thrusts. “I’ll do it then! I’ll send you back a soiled bird! That’s what you’ve been wanting, hasn’t it!” He pushed again, expecting Wolfram to beg or run for freedom. Instead the blonde turned to face him, settling his bottom on the rock’s flat surface and spreading his knees apart. Instinctively making a cradle for him to come between them. A fallen tear staining one of Wolfram’s heated cheeks.

~*~

A guttural sound came from the Maou’s throat as he lowered his mouth to Wolfram’s neck—licking and suckling hard. Wolfram arched his neck, gasping while holding the Maou’s black hair tight in his hands as the man ravaging him pulled his pants roughly down his legs. He heard himself moan loudly, shocked at his wanton behavior, liking the way the demon king took charge and manhandled him.

He’s tight, the Maou noted, rubbing two middle fingers over Wolfram’s hole.

Wolfram was everything he ever wanted in a partner: a handsome beauty with a fiery passion that he knew would match his own and a Mazoku with the gentle, kind soul of a human. He had gotten used to the prince’s shy touches and craved his company when they were apart that now ‘desperation’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe his need to ravish the embodiment of his torment. His desire. His pet.

Wolfram gasped each time the other pressed a gloved finger deeper inside his intimate opening. His legs spreading gradually and groaning loudly at the sensation as the finger at last filled his tightness deep within him.

The Maou stared at Wolfram’s blushing face, burning into his memory every contoured expression, watching as the blonde beauty bite his rosy lips in a futile attempt to remain quiet.

“Oh, my King,” Wolfram whispered hotly in his ear, the blonde’s hips rolling and bottom pressing hard against his finger. “My King!”

“You like that?”

Wolfram nodded blatantly, face red and eyes glazed and misty.

The Maou removed his gloved finger and his hand wandered quickly past the soft patch of curling hair, cupping Wolfram’s hot, swollen prick between the soft legs. The blonde writhed uncontrollably, making small wanton groans that heated his senses to full boil.

The Maou gripped hard on him, rubbing the tip with his thumb, and milking Wolfram to full erection. Not letting go, he used Wolfram’s hard rod to tug the blonde’s butt forward until it touched his hips.

It was happening, Wolfram thought. He was going to be the King’s wife. His consort. His to own, at last!

Then, the hand stopped and the Maou’s body suddenly left him. Wolfram opened his eyes, confused, and brain muddled. The Maou turned around and Wolfram stared at his King’s strong back, warm and damp with sweat.

“Enough,” the Maou said tersely. Chest heaving. His cold voice breaking the spell of Wolfram’s heated bliss.

Wolfram couldn’t stop trembling. He reached over and clenched his arms around the Maou’s shoulders, burying his face against the humid, hot, olive skin of his strong neck. He had never experienced this kind of desire before, let alone the pain of unsatisfied desire. It _hurt._ It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt.

“It h-hurts,” Wolfram huffed. He expected his King to be cruel, yet he was surprisingly kind. Turning around and rubbing his back; pressing his mouth to Wolfram’s temple.

“A few minutes and you’ll be all right,” Yuuri’s voice whispered to him. “Be still.”

When the trembling stopped, and just when Wolfram started nuzzling into the embrace, the mood changed, and the Maou pushed Wolfram away. “Cover yourself.”

A heavy cloak was tossed to his lap, and Wolfram clutched the fabric against his bottom nakedness.

Striding to the entrance of the cave, the Maou neated his shirt and raked his hands through his rumpled hair. Though the result was not much of an improvement as before, but he looked presentable. And he knew Wolfram, on the other hand, was a horrid mess. Hair tousled, clothes wrinkled, lips swollen—a beautiful mess that took all his will not to turn around and continue his work ravishing. 

The rain had stopped some time ago and he did not even notice.

“When you’re ready, tomorrow my escorts will take you home,” he said.

“I love you, my King.”

A moment of silence, body still, the Maou sighed deeply at Wolfram’s soft words that echoed loudly in the vast emptiness of the cave.

“’Tis best you forget about tonight,” he told the prince, managing to keep his voice steady and firm. “ _I_ intend to.”

“Did you not hear me?” Wolfram was on the verge of tears, clumsily lifting himself off the rock. “I said I _love_ you—I really do!”

The Maou strode outside, his horse in hand, pausing without looking at the disheveled prince. “I’d return the sentiment, but as I’ve said before, I do not wish to pledge myself to marriage. I love my freedom as it is and I’m returning yours.”

“Well I’m _not_ leaving—”

“You don’t have to go home if you don’t wish it, but know this: If you return with me, you’ll see to your duties at the bath house again, understand?”

The King left the cave without a backward glance to the shocked Wolfram.

~*~

Outside the storm had lessened its rage, and the rain drizzled softly, but lightning and thunder took its place. Deafening the night with sharp sounds and flashing the dark skies a ghostly white.

Murata lay in this darkness, trying to determine what nagged at his senses in between dreams. What was it? Something disturbing. He opened his eyes and sat up and gazed about the room. Distant scream spilled from his open windows as he slipped from his bed and that was when he smelled it.

Smoke.

Fire.

~*~

They rode for a long time in awkward silence, no sound between them but the whispering wind that blew warm. The smell of damp earth from the earlier rainstorm permeating the air.

Holding the reins on either side of his slender waist, Yuuri did his best to distract his mind from the lush, warm softness of Wolfram’s body in his arms, rocking slowly against him with the horses plodding steps.

Yuuri glanced at Wolfram every now and then, noting the blonde had been silent the whole trip back, not looking at him, head bowed, and shoulders slumped, which was understandable but still—

 _His silence is unnerving,_ Yuuri thought. _I don’t like it…_

He flinched when Wolfram broke the eerie quiet. “Sir, I’m sorry I troubled you by pushing myself on you like you said. I was being selfish and now, I realize it only made you hate me.”

 _Hate you?_ No. _I’m no better._ Yuuri thought.

Wolfram did not know he had secretly lusted after him and could not believe the Maou had told Wolfram he was to go away the next day and the thought of Wolfram separated from him gave him a strange sense of anxiety. Then having let the Maou threatened the prince that he’d return to being the hired help again— Yuuri’s anger swelled. 

_How could you?_ Yuuri growled at the Maou inwardly, who remained awkwardly silent. _Damn you! I’ll do as I please—as I should’ve done since the beginning!_

Wolfram needed someone to care for him. And both he and the Maou needed Wolfram to be complete. Part of him, disbelieving his own thoughts. Needed Wolfram? Why? For the sake of passion? There was that, of course. He could not remember ever being so caught in the toils of desire before. Nor had he ever been aware of this compulsion in him to shelter and comfort a lover. To hold Wolfram forever as he wished to do at this very moment.

Between now and forever.

Yuuri smiled. “Um—"

Wolfram gasped. His eyes wide with shock. “Sir!” he cried, pointing. “The bathhouse!”

At a distance, fire raged in the inner circle of the castle. Blazing light hot and fiery red wafted on top of the walls as Yuuri drifted back to awareness from his deep thoughts. He fully awakened as screams and loud voices coveted everywhere. He sped up his horse, the guards throwing open the gates as they saw he and Wolfram’s approach. Both men stepping off before the animal could stop as they were quickly approached by both guards and staff, heaving and sweating.

“Your Highness, the main bathhouse! It’s on fire!”

Yuuri raced toward it, his knights thundering after him, including Wolfram. What he saw as they drew near chilled Yuuri with disbelief, then enraged his blood to a white-hot fury.

The bathhouse was ablaze, screams ravaged the night air as both men and women, servant and guests scattered about confused and shocked.

“What happened?” the Maou demanded, his voice loud over the roar of the sounds surrounding him.

“’Twas lighting your Majesty! It shot straight onto the roof of the storage house where the fire canons and ammunition powder are kept! The blaze spread to the main bath house!”

 _Curse it to hell!_ the Maou shouted inwardly. Out of all days _this_ had to happen today! He was powerless on nights with New Moon—a fact only Murata knew of and two other staff members on Murata’s employ that the Sage trusted. His Maryoku of water element would have been useful at this moment!

He was already running to the other side of the bath house where he was told Murata was, helping the staff there. When he saw Wolfram follow, he turned and shouted, “Wolfram! Go to the main keep at the castle and stay there!” before running off.

_Like hell I will!_

Inhaling deeply, Wolfram approached to the nearest soldier who already had pails of water collected at his feet and for the first time, gave an order. “Drench me with water.”

“But His Highness said—”

“I don’t care what he said! Just do it! _Now_ I say!” Wolfram demanded, his voice so direct and firm that gave no room for argument.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Once drenched, Wolfram ran into the building. Inside, a world of smoke and twisting flames.

The lack of oxygen along with ash and hot embers getting into his eyes made it hard to find the people. Instead, he followed the sounds of sobs, screams and the chaotic panic. The guards quickly noted Wolfram’s stubbornness as they continued to drench him with water in his infallible determination to rescue more people. A few of the concerned staff had gone to tell the Demon King of Wolfram’s actions without him knowing.

The few people he managed to save noticed Wolfram’s curls of blonde hair scorched shorter as he kept rushing in and out of the burning building and continued their futile attempt to convince the prince to stop.

“Prince, stop it, you’ve done enough!”

“There’s still people inside!”

“The blaze is catching to inferno! He can’t do it alone!”

_They’re right. At this rate, the entire bath house will be destroyed._

He briefly recalled Yuuri telling him how he built the bath house. And then the memory of the night he had walked in on his King in bed with random women caused Wolfram’s insides to boil.

**_‘Why can’t you hate me and be done with it?’_ **

**_‘All you need to do is wish for it.’_ **

His decision was made.

Lifting the necklace to his lips, Wolfram bent his head, closed his eyes, and slowly whispered to it.

“Wolfram!” Through a blur of heat, Wolfram saw Yuuri running to him in the distance. “You don’t have any powers—what are you doing?”

 _Don’t worry, sir,_ Wolfram thought solemnly. _I’ll be sure to protect everything you’ve built._

Hot, orange flames surrounded Wolfram’s body, not burning, just circling around him as the necklace glowed an angry red. He watched himself in awe, feeling his body leave the ground as a strange power overtook him.

Yuuri gasped, an intense chill sweeping over him as he watched Wolfram engulfed by flames, floating high above the main bathhouse. Watched as Wolfram’s body soaked all the heat, flames and smoke until the buildings were free of the blazes.

Wolfram’s eyes rolled up into his head, his mouth open with no sound. A red blazing light consumed the world, blinding them all for an instant before fading away. Yuuri opened his eyes, a swirling mist revealing the saved bath house. And Wolfram’s body fainted on the cold ground just a few feet away from it.

“Don’t touch him! He’s mine!” The Maou shouted, shoving the men away crowding around the prince’s body. “Back away!”

In the heat of the moment, the Maou ignored the fact his bathhouse was salvaged, that his servants were unharmed. And most importantly, he utterly forgot about his harem, who now watched silently as he knelt beside the blonde, lifting him gently to his arms. His face in horror as he looked upon the fallen prince.

“My pet,” he whispered, pressing his mouth on Wolfram’s temple, kissing it sweetly over and over. “My sweet, beautiful pet…”

The Maou’s eyes drifted closed with a look of pain. He lowered his cheek to Wolfram’s own, nuzzling gently as he felt his heart crumble. Wolfram wasn’t moving, he was burning hot, but he was breathing. And as he observed, Wolfram’s hair had been scorched short at the edges. And Wolfram’s left shoulder blade was slightly burned. The pale skin marred in a horrid brown and red color.

Yuuri flinched at the sight. God, no…

“Why, Wolf? Why?” he whispered, kissing the inner shell of Wolfram’s ear, gently. “Since the start, you’ve been _special_ to me,” he added tenderly, feeling his eyes glaze wet. “I don’t know since when, but it’s the truth…”

If he had met his previous-self months before, he would not believe he’d be uttering the words that felt real in his heart in that moment.

Yet, after meeting Wolfram, the prince’s gentleness, and his acceptance to all that was himself crackled his barriers with an ease that the Maou thought no one would make possible to do so.

Knowing Wolfram’s sweet and timid side, the loyalty he obviously held for Yuuri and the genuine love Wolfram showered him only to be shunned away by his fear—somewhere Wolfram thawed his heart of steel. And the Maou’s.

Holding Wolfram in his arms tightly, he whispered, “Forgive me, Wolfram. For doubting my heart and letting you go.”

Murata, who had been busy putting out the fires, now witnessed the scene before him. The sweet prince unconscious in the King’s arms, non-responsive. The blasted necklace around the blonde’s neck. He turned away, hands clutching his hair in fearsome worry.

What have I done? he thought, desperately. What have I done?

Author's Note: Dear Readers: I apologize for the long wait and I'll continue to ask for your patience due to the recent events that are taking place in the world. Stay safe everyone and I will see you in the next one. 


	5. Chapter Four: Turned

** Chapter Four: Turned  **

_Forgive me, Wolfram. For doubting my heart and letting you go..._

The voice echoed dimly in the darkness of Wolfram’s dream the fragments of the words forgotten the moment before he opened his eyes to the waking world.

Wolfram found himself on his belly upon his soft bed. Murata’s face blocked the light of the new day and he heard the man sigh in relief.

“Bielefelt, you’re awake,” he said slowly. “You saved the bath house and everyone in it. Remember?”

“Oh, that’s right…” Wolfram agreed, his voice scratchy and dry as if he had swallowed sand. He turned his head slightly when Murata held a cup of cold water to his lips. Wolfram drank greedily.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Everyone is fine thanks to you.”

“Good.” Wolfram willed himself to sit up before instantly recoiling as a stinging pain jolted at his back near his right shoulder. He hissed softly.

“You were injured in the fire. A healer placed ointment on the burn,” he heard Murata say quickly. “The wound is still fresh, so do not move just yet.”

“Fine,” Wolfram murmured, embarrassed when he observed his bottom half was still in the same filthy clothes. He flinched and was grateful when Murata gently placed Wolfram’s silk night coverlet over his bare back. Wolfram heard Murata talk to the guards outside the hall, then he recalled the necklace. He quickly hid the jewel under his pillow just before Murata closed the bedroom door and returned to his side.

“Have I been sleeping long?” Wolfram asked.

“Three days.”

Three days? He could somewhat remember some of it, even when his head felt heavy. He could not focus his thoughts well—just broken images of orange flames and hot smoke. A burning pain and Yuuri’s face…

“If you are wondering, I had Shibuya go to sleep not too long ago.”

“I was not wondering about him,” Wolfram lied, relieved he did not have to see his human fiancée just yet. He observed Murata instead. Even though exhaustion was apparent in the man’s face, he still maintained his immaculate self. “Your eyes look dreadful. Have you been here, too?”

Murata leaned back on the chair near the bed. “I could not leave you alone. Per request on Shibuya’s behalf as well as my own. After all, it is partly my fault you are hurting this way.”

_The necklace._

“It is no fault of your own…”

“Shibuya feels he is at fault as well.”

_Yes, he should be._

“You shouldn’t have let him see me this way,” Wolfram said quietly and slightly embarrassed when he at last became conscious of his burnt curls that felt crispy like straw. “Look at my hair. I was and still am a horrid sight—I’m _filthy_.”

“I would like to know how you think I could have prevented it. He can be equally stubborn as you.”

Murata watched as Wolfram looked at his hands in silence before he braved to ask the reason to which the blonde replied, “I thought the power I used to save the bath house would remain with me.”

“The magic of the necklace was never meant to be a permanent gift, Bielefelt.”

“Shame.”

Murata stood from the chair at last. “I’ll have the maids draw you a bath.”

Wolfram shifted but could not escape the burning pyre of pain. He was careful not to let the tub water touch the wound on his back and felt satisfaction as he washed the filth off his body. Once clean and fresh he settled himself on a chair near the window while the maids turned over his bed with clean sheets. A coiffeur was called to snip the burnt edges off Wolfram’s hair just as his breakfast was carried in. His spirit rose as he was rained down with compliments from all who entered in his room.

“You were fearless, young prince!”

“You saved us all!”

“Naturally.” Wolfram affirmed with a nod of his head as thank-you-s continued. “I come from a long line of brave Mazoku lineage, I’ll have you all know.”

Once the staff left Wolfram smiled proudly to himself as the coiffeur finished trimming Wolfram’s hair; head held high. Murata found it strange as Wolfram took in every praise with a conceited attitude, so out character from the usually meek and conservative blonde, but he dismissed it quickly. After Wolfram’s heroic actions and given the fact he was injured and unconscious for three days he thought Wolfram deserved praise and did not blame the prince for wanting to gloat.

A knock on the open door was announced seconds before two male attendants walked in carrying gifts wrapped in colorful cloth and boxes tied in flowers and ribbons. Wolfram stared from the mirror as the gifts were placed upon his bed on Murata’s instruction.

“Engagement gifts for you, Prince Bielefelt,” one of them explained, with a slight bow. “They arrived early yesterday from your family.”

At this, Wolfram walked over quickly, the first genuine smile on his face as he began to open the gifts with joy. Murata smiled softly at Wolfram’s enthusiasm, watching him quietly. The coiffeur gathered his supplies and bowed before leaving with the rest of the staff.

“From my brothers!” Wolfram took out new, good quality riding boots with matching riding gloves from his brother Gwendal. Gold male jewelry and a beautiful leather arming belt from his brother Conrad. Wolfram twirled a short, light-blue silk nightie gifted from his mother that was paired with a coverlet and tight silk night shorts. Wolfram shook his head at his mother’s gift. It was just like her to gift such a revealing attire obviously meant for his first night with…um…

**_‘The truth is I did not want this in the first place.’_ **

**_‘I wish I could have been someone that you would…desire.’_ **

**_‘Well, you are not.”_ **

_Rejected._ Twice. Wolfram had thought he understood Yuuri’s reason for not wanting to marry him, but even the Maou himself pulled away! He could not figure out what mistake he had made back then. Clearly something was wrong with him Wolfram had convinced himself. He was determined to find a way to hold the Maou’s attention and then the fire happened. And he made his wish, and now…

Sensing the prince’s sudden downcast mood Murata was reminded of the hostility between Shibuya and Wolfram the day before the fire. ‘Twas the reason why he had bestowed Wolfram the necklace. Whatever happened between them since then was a mystery to him. Wolfram had not mentioned anything to him in that aspect and Murata did not want to pry. He suspected by Wolfram’s sudden melancholic mood that things did not go well again. Murata looked up when Wolfram spoke.

“I’m to return to my cleaning duties,” he said impassively.

Murata frowned. “Why?”

“That was the King’s condition if I wished to stay here. If not I’m to return home.”

“There must be some mistake—a misunderstanding.”

“The king was very lucid when he told me this,” said Wolfram grimly. _I may not recall what happened after the fire, but I remember everything that happened before that._

Murata neared. “Whatever he said to you, I’m sure Shibuya feels differently now.”

Wolfram scoffed. _Yes, so do I._

Just then someone rushed inside his chamber and the Maou stood there, eyes wide. A smile spreading on his face when he saw Wolfram at last awake.

“Wolfram!”

Said Mazoku did not even flinch, merely glanced at him with indifference.

“Ah, it’s you.” Wolfram said lamely. The Maou had only gone three paces into the room when the prince added, “What the hell do you want?”

Murata turned to look at the blonde, rattled at the crude rudeness of the usually sweet and courteous Mazoku. Looking at the demon king, Murata saw the same incredulous and shocked expression on his face. The smile gradually fading from the Maou’s face, stopping him in his tracks as Wolfram continued.

“I got your women out safely if that is the reason you are here.” Wolfram turned to his breakfast on the table near his window then waved a hand at him, swatting it in the direction of the door. “You can leave now, sir.”

“I came to see how you faired,” the Maou began. “I was worrie—"

“Well as you can see, I’m fine. Now leave.” Wolfram insisted, but the Maou did not budge and seeing Shibuya’s disheartened look Murata stepped in.

“Bielefelt, Shibuya has driven himself to collapse keeping watch over you.”

Wolfram said nothing, merely began preparing his coffee in cruel silent ignorance. Murata opened his mouth to say something again but paused as the Maou signaled him with a shake of his hand.

“I’ll leave you to rest some more then,” the Maou said grimly. He watched Wolfram make his way to the mirror and feigned interest in his new haircut. When the prince did not acknowledge him again, the Maou bowed to him before he walked out.

“This isn’t like you, Bielefelt.” Murata commented after the demon King had gone.

“I know, but it’ll take a while for my hair to grow back to its shoulder length.”

“You know what I mean.”

Wolfram sighed, a frown on his face. “I refuse to be the starry-eyed child I was when I first arrived here. What good did it do me? It was obvious to everyone except me that the King only saw me as a bother.”

“You’ve changed him though. Now he genuinely cares for you. You should have _seen_ how he looked when you wouldn’t wake.”

“He’s had his chance before, now it is I that wants nothing to do with him.” Wolfram huffed, indignantly.

A pause.

“Bielefelt, where is the necklace I gave to you?”

He saw Wolfram tense a bit before quickly picking the hairbrush. “I misplaced it.”

That was clearly a lie.

“What did you wish for?”

“I don’t recall,” said Wolfram, sipping a bit of the coffee that he had ordered with his breakfast. Then took a bite of another _Mame daifuku_ (a Japanese morning snack dating back to the Edo period).

Another lie. Cleary Murata realized he was not going to be successful in getting anything out of the tempered prince today.

Murata sighed. “Shibuya is right. You need more rest.”

Wolfram watched Murata leave quietly from his mirror until he was left alone.

~*~

The Maou tried not to take offense by the blonde’s rudeness, convincing himself that Wolfram was still in pain, physically and emotionally. And the Maou did not blame him for it. He should have expected this and knew he would have to face Wolfram’s grudge sooner or later, but he was not prepared to take in the coldness Wolfram showed him that morning. It affirmed his fears for he did not want to believe what Murata told him when he had tried healing the unconscious prince the night of the fire. He was surprised to find his Maryoku did not work on Wolfram.

_“Your Maryoku won’t work until you both mutually accept each other as lifelong partners,” Murata had explained cautiously in a sotto voice._

_“But I do. I want that more than anything.” The Maou admitted, face reddened, clearly embarrassed at his sudden confession, grasping Wolfram’s cold motionless hand as he knelt beside him on the bed._

_“Then perhaps it is not you that is the problem…” Murata suggested timidly._

_“That can’t be...” He recalled all the cruel words he had said to Wolfram and even though he asked a tentative “why?” he felt he already knew the reason behind it._

_“I’m not sure, Shibuya.” Both men looked down at the unconscious prince on the bed. “All we can do is wait for him to awaken.”_

And Wolfram did wake but he was very much altered. He knew he had to find a way to approach the prince again. And even though he refused to admit it he thought that perhaps speaking to Wolfram as his human counterpart might lessen Wolfram’s hostility toward him. So, once he saw the blonde roaming the gardens out his window, he willed all his courage on the fore and let human Yuuri take over.

That afternoon the world was a radiant blue and the gardens bloomed with bursting red and white roses. In the warm summer breeze Yuuri could hear Wolfram humming to a tune he was not familiar with. He recalled Wolfram mentioning once that he was not blessed with a sweet voice, yet the sound of Wolfram’s gentle low singing was calming to him and eased his nerves. Holding his breath Yuuri came closer to the blonde, who had his back turned and was plucking roses at his leisure. As he drew near Yuuri noticed that there was a clean fresh scent of rose and grass on Wolfram. He liked it very much. And as if suddenly sensing his presence, Wolfram turned his head, his green eyes wide when he saw Yuuri standing there.

Yuuri flinched when the prince stretched out his right hand to him, palm down, saying not a word. Yuuri took it and just as his lips barely grazed Wolfram’s warm hand, the blonde pulled it away. Wolfram turned his back to him again and resumed his flower picking only this time he stopped his cheerful humming.

“Wolf, I,” quavered Yuuri. “I came to apologize for the words I said to you before.” Wolfram remained quiet, only listened as the other continued. “I lied about not wanting this union and about not finding you desirable.”

Bravely, he edged close, just behind Wolfram and tentatively reached for the blonde’s chin. Wolfram allowed the light touch and said nothing still as Yuuri tilted his head gently upwards to look at him from behind.

Secretly, it took every strength, all his will for Wolfram not to show any emotion as he gazed up at those beautiful brown eyes of his human fiancée. Yuuri’s face was only inches away…

“I know it’s not enough to say I’m sorry but, if you let me, I can show you this time that I mean every word.” Yuuri told him. “If you would only open your heart to me again.”

 _I did_ , Wolfram thought sadly. _I did so many times, but you…_

Before, Wolfram would shamelessly spill his heart out to him and now Wolfram’s silence was…frightening. Yuuri hated Wolfram’s silence.

“Wolf, please,” he begged. “ _Say_ something.”

The prince continued his stubborn quietness and stared at him with the same blank expression for mere seconds before he turned away. Without a word he began walking to the direction of castle, arms full of the fresh roses he had picked.

Yuuri panicked as did the Maou who inwardly urged the other to say something or do anything. 

“Wolf! I’ll come get you for dinner, all right?” Yuuri’s sudden statement made Wolfram pause but did not turn to look at him. “Tonight. At the ballroom.”

Wolfram said nothing again and resumed his walking as Yuuri watched him, ironically more troubled than before.

~*~

Wolfram’s fingertip brushed the edge of the candle holder. He had been quietly staring at it for what seemed like hours and had not used the broken candlestick on it either or had it replaced. He had kept the items hidden and close by.

It was only in these moments when he was alone that he would allow himself to dwell on the details of what these items meant. They were reminder of that night he discovered his King in bed with another. A reminder of the betrayal and the hurt he felt then. A reminder of why the Wolfram from before should not return.

He sighed deeply as his mind made a full circle to memories of the person he did not want to think about and stubbornly did not allow himself to forget. The bitter words he had said to the Maou that morning, they were out before Wolfram could think better of it. And he vowed he would no longer hide his troubles or complaints to the demon king anymore. But with Yuuri it was…different. Yuuri had always been kind to him, distant but kind. And yet, knowing Yuuri did nothing to defend their bond before still saddened him and the disappointment lingered on. Wolfram would allow Yuuri some leniency, but Yuuri was partially at fault. So, neither counterparts would be forgiven so easily Wolfram decided.

A wary knock and the door creaked open, but Wolfram did not move or look to see who it was that entered his room.

“Gifts from His Majesty, Prince Bielefelt.” Murata placed colorful boxes wrapped in ribbons upon the nearest desk.

“Just dump them anywhere,” came Wolfram’s rude answer. _If they are from **him** I do not want it._

Ignoring the prince’s tantrum, Murata made quick work opening the boxes and settling the contents neatly on the bed. He did not fear Wolfram’s temper for he knew well Wolfram’s hatred was not directed at him.

“His Highness said he invited you to dine with him tonight and—”

“I don’t recall _agreeing_ to it.”

“—It will be just the two of you. A private dinner here in the castle.” Murata continued, trying to convince Wolfram. “How about wearing this new dress blouse? The color will suit the green of your eyes?”

“ _Leave_ , please,” Wolfram sighed, exasperated at forcing himself to be polite yet his tone was full of irritation. “I wish to be alone.”

“But, he—”

The Maou who had been listening outside Wolfram’s bedroom door, came in. Wolfram stiffened as he saw the king’s reflection reflected on the glass window.

“You _will_ come to dinner with me,” the demon King said his voice becoming deep and strict in a matter of seconds. “Get dressed _now_.”

Wolfram turned to look at him, then. Jaded snake-eyes glaring at the Maou, who in turn braved Wolfram’s stare with equal determination. Wolfram marched toward the bed, angry, and gripped one of the clothes displayed upon the sheets.

“You expect me to dress in these rags?” he challenged, tossing the blouse to the floor. Then reaching over and doing the same with the others. He looked at the Maou again, who watched him with a tense gaze.

Murata wore a shocked expression himself as he watched Wolfram throw and kick the gifts across the floor. The Sage was silent through all this display, inwardly disbelieving how the sweet prince he had come to know became this spoiled, vain, and pompous person before him. And he knew Shibuya was also thinking the same. Probably.

“All that gold and you can’t afford the best for your fiancée _,”_ Wolfram spat, venomously. “I don’t want your _women’s_ hand me downs.”

Murata eyes widened. “Shibuya, you didn’t—”

“Of course not!” the Maou snapped back, quickly.

“Liar.” Wolfram turned and marched to the door. “Now, let’s get this over with so you’d stop pestering me.”

The timely arrival of the waiters with their meal dispersed the tension that charged the air around the table. Murata stood on the side overseeing the quick work of his trained staff and remained there should either King or prince…be need of anything.

A feast was set before them of pork cutlets, white rice, green salad, assortment of vegetables, and other side dishes. When the staff had withdrawn, Wolfram closed his eyes and bowed his head in a silent grace before his meal.

Wolfram was still dressed in the same attire as when Yuuri saw him in the gardens earlier. Plain white blouse open slightly at the chest, tight black pants and the green of Wolfram’s eyes enhanced by a black smudge stick. Wolfram’s natural beauty overpowered the simple attire none the less.

The Maou gazed at him quietly, somehow Wolfram’s nearness banished his lingering tense emotion of their earlier spat upstairs. But as Wolfram swept his green eyes open again the Maou quickly looked away and clumsily did the same.

“Your Eminence,” called Wolfram’s voice at Murata. The King looked up as Wolfram took the dinner napkin and gracefully placed it upon his lap. “Come join me, will you?”

 _This is a private dinner meant for just the two of us,_ the Maou wanted to say but Yuuri forced against it stating he had denied and neglected Wolfram so many things in the beginning and if having Murata join them, who had come to be a close friend to Wolfram, would subside the blonde’s temper and not leave his planned dinner, then there was nothing neither counterpart would deny him. Not anymore.

Wolfram glared his twin jades at the Maou, as if daring the other to say no to him. He turned to glance at Murata who hesitated before the King nodded for him to come over.

Wolfram tilted his head with a feigned innocent smile, his hand outstretched, palm down. Like a Queen on her throne expecting a kiss in the hand to show their loyalty and respect. Murata neared, kissing Wolfram’s hand briefly in reverence before sitting between them once another chair was provided for him.

“How is the painting coming along?” Wolfram asked suddenly.

“Uh—” Caught off guard, Murata took the offered cold water glass and pressed it to his lips. “Well—"

“What painting?”

The instant the Maou curiously intervened, Wolfram snapped. “I wasn’t talking to you!”

The quick rude tone was so astounding to both alpha men the Maou was shocked silent and Murata coughed on his water, mid-swallow. The kitchen staff also paused their serving to the high sound of Wolfram’s voice booming in the emptiness of the grand ball room.

“And why have you stopped?” Wolfram retorted to the waiters, turning in his chair, and looking at them in accusation. “Our guest’s food is getting cold! Not to mention my own—now, be _quick_ about it!”

The kitchen staff and waiters murmured a nervous union of “yes, sir” and made quick work in finishing serving Murata’s unexpected dinner plate.

“Speaking of, the dinner was an invitation from Yuuri, not _you._ Now, where is he?” Crossing his arms Wolfram leaned as far forward across the table and hissed, “I’m waiting.”

The Maou’s eyes widened a bit at Wolfram’s sudden demand, the frown on Wolfram’s face deepening the more he continued to stare up at him, hard and cold. Unbending. The Maou’s features altered before the prince’s eyes. And Murata sighed in relief as Yuuri now stood there, equally as baffled.

“Good.” Wolfram murmured, glaring at Yuuri before settling himself more properly in his chair and turning to Murata again. “Well? Is it finished yet?” he asked him, giving him a robotic innocent smile, though his green eyes said he felt otherwise.

Murata shook his head and cleared his throat, just as his dinner plate was placed in front of him. “No.”

After the awkward dinner, Wolfram was escorted by the two men to his respective room in the castle, saying a cordial good night to Murata, though it was only 8 o’clock. The genuine smile he graced Murata gone once Wolfram turned to Yuuri. Wolfram snapped an outstretched hand to his human fiancée, lifting it close to Yuuri’s face who took it without hesitation, kissing it open mouth, not deterring his brown eyes from Wolfram’s jaded ones.

“Goodnight, Wolf.”

Wolfram scoffed, pulling his hand away quickly before turning and claiming he was tired under his breath. Yuuri knew the real reason Wolfram was retiring so early. Wolfram was avoiding him and Yuuri had a feeling it was not going to be the last time.

The sound of Wolfram’s door slamming shut echoed in the hallway. Murata approached Yuuri slowly, who had gazed intensely after the prince’s figure before he disappeared out of sight.

“Will you be returning to your room in the bath house, Shibuya?” Murata asked, though he knew the answer already.

“Tonight will be my last, yes. Have my things from the bath house brought back into my rooms here on the morrow.”

Murata nodded. “Very well.”

Wolfram pulled away from the door, his ear that was pressed against it catching the brief conversation between the two men out in the hallway. The dozen roses on his nightstand caught his eye just as a single blood red petal fell on upon its surface. He remembered Yuuri’s apology in the garden. His nearness. The light touch of Yuuri’s fingers as they rubbed his chin so lovingly.

**_“None of it was true…I’ll show you this time I mean every word.”_ **

_Liar!_ The fiery rage returned mingled with sadness. Wolfram snatched the roses from its marbled vase and threw them in the fireplace and watched them shrivel in the heat, the blood red color drowning in inky blackness.

That night in bed, Wolfram pondered over how differently he had been behaving—so different from his child-like manner he arrived in. So vain and selfish and self-centered. Knowing well how his sudden change in personality affected the two men he came to care about so much. The look on their faces haunting his dreams.

 _Why are you doing this?_ he often heard his previous self ask inside his head.

Wolfram knew well why.

~*~

Yuuri’s head ached from reading the account books of the bath house. What Murata found easy to understand he thought nearly indecipherable. Murata had always been the scholar and was good at keeping account from what he noticed in the paperwork of the past months.

Murata had been busy managing the workers in charge of rebuilding and painting the south side of the bath house that was damaged. Thanks to Wolfram’s heroic actions most of the bath house was salvaged except for that one area of the building. And Yuuri now regretted offering himself to aid Murata in his paperwork duties tonight.

Instead Yuuri again found himself in Wolfram’s room. He sat upon the familiar armchair next to Wolfram’s bed and watched the blonde through the light sheer curtains the prince had ordered to cover the whole of his bed. It was the middle of summer, and the windows to Wolfram’s bedroom were all open to let in the cool midnight breeze of the night.

He thought back on all the times Murata had sung Wolfram’s praises when the blonde prince worked at the bath house on the first week he had arrived to Blood Pledge castle. He was told Wolfram treated everyone with courtesy, even the bath maids, as expected from the meek and gentile Mazoku he had come to know back then. Little details of kindness that charmed the whole of his staff. They strove to please and accommodate Wolfram more so now even when Wolfram had so abruptly changed. No one seemed bothered or insulted when Wolfram would order them about or demand something done to his satisfaction.

Murata had told him the staff complained long ago that the king had not been showing Wolfram the proper degree of respect for the sweet prince before, and that the “new prince” was in his right to lash out and be selfish with the King at last.

And they had been right.

To have given Wolfram the position of a servant for his own benefit at the start had been selfish and cruel on his part. And now the regret plagued him to no end, especially when he let the Maou once again threaten the prince with the same condition in their spat at the cave. He did not believe Wolfram would take him seriously, but he did. Even if it was Wolfram’s form of revenge, to spite him, to torment his already guilty conscious.

Wolfram was different indeed, that was plainly noticed by all. Different in every sense of the word. The blonde Mazoku was attractive enough from the start, now he was astounding—in a fierce and unapproachable way. From his manner of walking with an air of royal grace that was not there before. To those green, gentle eyes now sharp and cat-like, the beauty of his face now more perfectly apparent with his short, crispy hair that he softly spiked up, giving him a sexy haughty look.

And his change in wardrobe, as well. Gone were the prim and proper suits, now Wolfram wore loose chemises open at the chest that fell at the shoulders. Adorned by a black leather arming belt around his thin waist that showed off every curve of his bottom and legs once tightened with the lace, and those blasted black leather riding boots that he wore every day that fit him so well.

Each time the Maou met his eyes, Wolfram would gaze at him with such intensity that now it was the Maou who looked away in shyness. He had gathered his courage to try to speak to Wolfram again; he had given orders to Murata to bring the blonde to him one evening:

They reached the King’s door, the guards posted there bowing as they approached.

Wolfram gulped, heart already beating, throbbing with the thought of seeing the Maou. What would he say? How should Wolfram respond to him? Yet knowing Murata would be at his side, lessened Wolfram’s anxiety a bit.

“Wait!” Wolfram whispered urgently, just soon enough as the guards halted, their hands on the chambers latch. “Please.”

Having always been one to fuss over his physical presentation, this was no exception. And in clumsy haste, Wolfram tugged and tugged, working his clothes into its proper places. He glanced briefly at Murata who shook his head at him discreetly. His expression telling him, “This is why I asked if you needed to change first.”

Nay. _I’ve no reason to impress him anymore and I do not want to._

Straightening his work robes one last time, Wolfram held his head high and nodded at the guards to open the Maou’s chamber doors.

“Ready,” he said as the doors opened wide, but not by the guards. The Maou’s liquid dark eyes met his, and Wolfram stared, lost in its depths. For a moment neither said a word, standing there before the King ordered his guards away with a firm, “Leave.”

Then, the Maou looked at Murata who still stood at Wolfram’s side. “I said _leave_.”

Murata bowed obediently and Wolfram was grateful the doors remained open at least just as Murata disappeared around the corner.

The silence that followed was awkward and suffocating. In his head, Yuuri insisted the Maou to break the overwhelming tension at once. Yuuri had been in the Maou’s place many times, now it was the demon king’s turn to face the fire.

“You did not change this time,” the Maou noticed. In the beginning he recalled Wolfram coming to him always nicely dressed and face glowing. Shy and willing. Taking his breath away.

“I expect this won’t take long, so I’ll be going back to work once my duty here is done with you.”

“Duty…” the Maou repeated quietly. A simple word that he did not believe would cause him to feel so utterly dejected coming from this person. Cast aside so easily. “Is that what I’ve become to you?”

Wolfram did not respond, only stared at him with a firm look, pristine hands behind his back and legs apart, like a soldier awaiting the orders of his commander. And ready for anything.

“I wish to apologize to you for everything I’ve told you.” The Maou began. “None of it was true and the real truth is, I longed for you since the beginning.”

“You lie—”

“I’m not! Why do you always say that to me?”

“Because it’s the truth! You say those empty words because you’ve no choice! You didn’t want this arrangement, you _admitted_ to it.”

“I lied because I—I—” the Maou sighed dejectedly. “I do not have your courage. I am a coward, like you said. And I do not know since when but…I do like you.”

Wolfram turned around at the last word, crossing his arms. The Maou drew close, hovering his arms around Wolfram before bravely embracing him gently. He felt Wolfram stiffen, his arms still crossed and merely turned his face away as the other continued. “Please, pet. Please, believe me.”

“You made me doubt, sir. Made me lose trust in you. So much that I,” Wolfram uncrossed his arms, forcing himself out of the King’s embrace. “I do not wish for your love anymore.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Tell me the truth.” The blonde prince turned in his arms looking up at him, green eyes misty yet still sharp and firm. “If I hadn’t discovered you, would you have continued laying with them?”

The Maou gasped inwardly. Hesitant.

“I knew it.”

“I didn’t say anything!” The Maou countered as Wolfram turned his heel already rushing to the door, the king following behind him. Stopping just a few feet away as Wolfram paused by the entrance to look at him. Green eyes glowing with renewed will.

“Your silence spoke for you, sir. Now if you excuse me, _Your Highness_ ,” Wolfram said bitterly with a mocking bow. “It’s time for _the help_ to depart.”

“Wolfram!”

“That was your agreement, do you not recall? I do.” Wolfram said grimly before he disappeared out of his sight.

No matter how he tried, the demon king could not reach Wolfram. He had never felt more alone.

 _If I had not been so blind,_ the Maou thought sadly. _If I would have let you be mine from the start…_

He recalled his human’s memories of all the times Wolfram looked at him, smiled shyly at him, all those moments he took for granted and now longed to have them back.

Murata was right. _It would have been so easy for me to love you…_

He imagined how different it would have been if he had only listened to Murata back then. To have let tender moments between him and sweet Wolfram become a reality if he had not been so closed with fear. How easy it would have been back then to woo the blonde intimately, let Wolfram’s innocence melt away his stubborn walls. Steal kisses in darkened corners, brave intimate touches just to see his pet’s serene look break into fragments of lust for him…

Impatiently, the Maou raked his hands through his hair, missing the Wolfram he had chased away and desperately thinking of a way to have the prince be smitten with again. But his human’s subconscious entered his thoughts and calmed him down.

Wolfram shifted and the Maou stiffened at once, then relaxed again when the blonde only squeezed his body pillow, tightening his bare legs around it. Wolfram had made it a habit to sleep only in his night shorts—a sexy little silk fabric that was not effeminate but was thin enough to show off Wolfram’s intimate areas. Something a bottom would wear to please his top.

The Maou’s eyes glistened darkly as he took in the sight, letting himself fall back, hands gripping the arms of the chair as he squirmed, his groin growing uncomfortably hard.

Yuuri blushed inwardly. _Wolf…_

~*~

Yuuri woke in the middle of the night to soft hands stroking his belly as he lay upon the bed. He moaned lightly; his head muddled by the heavy wine he had dowsed only hours ago when he made his way back to the bath house and into his room one last time. And when those hands closed around his length over his pants, he softly lurched up the bed.

“Wolf?” The top of a head was all he saw in the darkness as the body leaned down and swiped a wet tongue from his clothed balls to his tip. The sensation bringing forth the demon King.

Where had Wolfram learned that?

The Maou sat up slightly, his hand cupping under a soft chin. “Wolfram, my pet, you have come to me? Have you forgiven me?”

He reached to touch the _long_ brown hair and the Maou immediately came awake. It wasn’t Wolfram’s hair. He jerked up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He lit a candle and looked at Alice’s face. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright, her skin flushed, her brown hair spilling about her face and bare shoulders.

He realized she was naked. That wasn’t good. He set the candle down and flung a blanket sharply at her.

She laughed. “You’ve seen all of me and more, my king. Have you forgotten already?” She stepped forward. “Let me remind you—”

“Don’t call me that! And don’t touch me!” he spat venomously. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? I dismissed all you harlots!”

“I’m above all your harlots. I was always your favorite, remember?” she said, sliding the blanket aside, revealing her womanhood and shimming her hips. The Maou quickly turned his back to her. She wanted to clout him. “I have no wish to wed you. You know that. I only wish to enjoy your body one last time.”

“You will not! I will not allow it! Now get out of my kingdom before I have you _dragged_ out, bare and all!”

She looked at him scorned. “You’ll regret dissing me.”

And she left just as she had come, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Reminding him of the man he used to be. A sad, empty shell of a man he never let show to those he bedded with before. The ease it took to tangle himself in random bodies, never giving him completion. Their soul-less kisses and cold touch no longer holding sway. A thirst never quenched.

That path…he would never return to such an existence again.

The time spent with Wolfram made him feel whole again. Hearing his voice, smelling his scent. Yet, he failed Wolfram. Lied to him. And when Wolfram saw fit to give him another chance, he failed once more.

Never again. And he promised himself he would convince Wolfram to be his again. And this time he would never let him go.

~*~

Early the next morning Yuuri had gone to the two foreign towns close to the coast to buy more supplies to rebuild the damaged side of bath house. He had left Murata instruction of tonight’s private gathering of guests for he was not going to be present to host it.

Murata was surprised when he walked in on the royal tailor measuring Wolfram in the castle’s library. Upon seeing him enter Wolfram showed off the black chemise that the young tailor was adding ruffles to at the sleeves.

“What do you think? This old chemise will look splendid done over,” Wolfram said proudly and showing Murata gold buttons he had chosen to add flare to the black blouse. “I heard a private dinner will be on for tonight, I’m sure there is much to be done! What are our plans?”

Murata sighed faintly, knowing he would have to disappoint Wolfram. “ _I_ am going to assemble the servants and have them begin preparations in the large dining area on the third floor for the coming guests in the evening.”

“Yes, it would be best to start early. I am looking forward to hosting my first private dinner since the King is away today.”

Murata frowned at Wolfram’s giddy excitement. “Out of the question. The debauched party of Alberic’s regiment will be there and Sir Alberic himself. He will only upset you—”

“That will not happen.” Wolfram stated confidently. Then blithely looked down at the tailor with brief direction on the length of the sleeves.

“You are _not_ attending this party or hosting anything.” Murata’s unexpected irritation made Wolfram pause. “It is obvious you are so little acquainted with these types of people and ambiance to be of any match for it.”

“True.” Wolfram admitted bravely. “All the more reason to attend so I could learn and perhaps—"

“That man will not be sober and will be ready for action.” Murata countered. “He will assume you are there for one reason—”

“As if I’ll let that pompous _pig_ touch me—!”

“No!” Murata stomped his left foot, his voice raised in such a tone that even the seamster and his attendants were shocked silent. Including Wolfram. “I forbid it!”

“You are _forbidding_ me?” Wolfram questioned Murata’s defiance, so out of character for the usually composed bespectacled man.

“I am _advising_ you not to,” Murata muttered through gritted teeth as he forcibly corrected himself. He sighed sharply. “And you will not help in the bath house today. I will arrange everything.”

Wolfram placed his hands on his hips. “Why?”

“I do not trust this man Alberic. He is cunning and sneaky.” Murata looked at him, his face free from jest or the usual joyful attitude he always held. “Careful around him, Bielefelt. He took a great liking to you.”

Wolfram puffed his chest, suddenly offended. “Is that why you are having me stay here all day—to keep watch over me? You believe I will fool around with that man behind darkened corners?”

“Of course not,” Murata explained, not wishing for the prince to lose trust in him. “It is not you I do not trust.”

Murata reached for the unfinished fabric in the seamster’s hand and the basket of needles and other supplies and handed it to the nearby attendant. “Get rid of this,” he said to them brusquely. “And leave—all of you.”

Wolfram crossed his arms over his chest in irate silence. Murata turned to look at him sternly one last time before he closed the door.

~*~

The noise in the room became almost deafening with the antics of the men and women and the live music and Wolfram took no notice of the unruly ambience of drunken laughter and clatter of dishes. Wolfram was completely immersed in the scene before him.

“You are a tease,” the tipsy man muttered as the concubine on his lap pressed her ample bosom on his bare chest.

Wolfram watched as her hands barely grazed his body, not touching completely. Phantom kisses that were quickly pulled away just as the man began to feel good. Wolfram stared blatantly his eyes fixated on every movement of the woman. Learning. Studying.

 _Hmm. I think I can do that, too,_ he mused.

“Curious, are you?”

Wolfram groaned inwardly not turning to look at the man as Alberic sat beside him. The man’s handsome countenance marred by pink half-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed and with a slight sway of his body. Drunk.

“I can show you how it feels,” the man offered shamelessly. His raunchy breath of alcohol and smoke wafting too close for comfort near Wolfram who fought the urge to roll his eyes. And gag. Instead he turned back to the scene again only now the intimate display was over from the two people he had been observing.

He had the seamster from earlier secretly finish his party attire and when Wolfram first entered the room, he swallowed his nerves at how both guests and staff equally stared at him. He acknowledged bows and curtsies and brief questions of the Maou’s whereabouts.

Wolfram did not allow himself to show any sign of being communicative. He attended social events before but did not wish to make any acquaintance here. This party catered a different form of entertainment than the formal gathering where conversation was the order of the evening. Soon Wolfram found himself sitting alone in a corner. Listening and looking around at nothing or to no one in particular, feeling every bit as normal as any other.

He began searching for a “source” to study on the ways of intimacy and tried to avoid Murata as much as he could. He was grateful the room was large and had many sections where he could easily hide behind soft bamboo-lined screens and corners. With so many people and how lively everything was it was an easy enough feat to do since Murata was so immersed in the management of the staff.

“I’ve lingered long enough.” Wolfram said mainly to himself, already standing.

“Pity. I thought you would be more daring since the last time we met. For such a pretty face you are such a disappointment.”

It was clearly meant as an insult to irritate him but alas Wolfram only cared when the insults came from people he cared about. And this person was slovenly not worth it. “And you are a waste of a man. And a bore. Excuse me.”

As the glass doors swung open for him, a soft blast of cool night air hit Wolfram’s face. High atop the balcony Wolfram’s tension lifted from his body for he was not accustomed to rendezvous with strangers, let alone with inebriated ones. The doors closed and at last alone he leaned forward, resting his arms on the balcony’s ledge gazing across the threshold of the alien world before him. The bright lights of the distant town twinkling like the stars above the velvet blackness of the night sky. He allowed himself to dwell in his thoughts. Everything he believed in the beginning now seemed so… childish.

How could he have once believed he could live together in mutual tolerance in a marriage arranged to a man he had never met. How did he ever convince himself to go through with it? Perhaps because he did not expect things to turn out this way. Now he regretted opening himself too much to his betrothed, regretted how easily he became smitten with the king. It only delved him into a hurt he did not wish to feel again.

**_“This isn’t like you, Bielefelt.”_ **

_No, it is not,_ Wolfram agreed inwardly. He sighed deeply, bowing his head, missing his long blonde curls that would usually fall on his face, hiding his expression. _What am I doing?_ _What am I doing—_

“Hi, darling!”

Wolfram turned at the loud woman’s voice and was shocked to see the Maou there. Unbeknownst to him, Yuuri had returned. And in the middle of the private dinner party!

Wolfram’s green eyes widened more at the sight of the haughty concubine as she clung to his fiancée. The demon king unaware of Wolfram standing just outside the glass doors.

“It’s been too long—I’ve missed you so,” she chided with a drunken laugh, rubbing her hands on the King’s clothed chest.

“Alice, _let go_ ,” the Maou threatened through gritted teeth, plucking the woman’s roaming hands gingerly off his body.

He had returned earlier than expected, exhausted. Not that he doubted Murata’s management but knowing it was Alberic’s hoard of party beasts and knowing how heavy the Alberic man indulged in the drink he felt it his duty to see how the gathering faired in his absence. When he asked the bartender of the Sage’s whereabouts, he learned Alberic had paid for more drink and his friend had gone to the wine stock room with a few of the staff. He had only meant to at least greet his loyal patron in haste before he ran off to find Wolfram until Alice annoyingly caught him.

Alice’s hand persisted and she continued to laugh. It irritated the Maou how the girl acted as though things had not changed between them. This woman was clearly delusional.

A few of the bath maids tentatively rushed to get Alice off the king, their cheeks blazing red in discomfiture at their colleague’s wanton mannerism when it was clearly not wanted. Wolfram watched as the bath maids eyed him nervously through the glass door.

The Maou growled softly. “Let go, woman—" Suddenly the doors of the balcony thrummed open and Wolfram stood there, piercing green emeralds directed at him.

 _Wolfram,_ Yuuri croaked inwardly. Appalled.

Wolfram stared at his fiancée and the bawd for a moment, as if convincing himself that what he saw was real. The Alberic man also turned his head to look at the prince, a small sneer on his lips and looking pleased with the scene before him. This made Wolfram rattle and shake with rage. With that, the prince marched out of the room, blinking rapidly, and feeling hot tears rising, ignoring the king’s calls.

 ** _Don’t_** _fucking cry_ , he willed himself, speeding up as Yuuri’s footsteps finally reached him at the end of the hall.

“Wolfram!” Yuuri panted. “What you saw back there—”

“What I _saw_ spoke for itself, sir.”

Yuuri’s heart ached at the last word. “Wolf, women like that never held any importance to me, _you_ do!”

“Liar,” Wolfram spat, turning to face him at last.

Yuuri said nothing to that, lost in his sudden observation of Wolfram, his eyes roaming up and down the prince’s body, drowning in the sight before him. To Wolfram’s dainty bare feet, up his well-shaped hairless legs, to his tight black leather shorts, to the black open chemise with lace ruffles at the edges of his long sleeves. A gold choker and gold earrings, to Wolfram’s glossy lips and painted eyes, accentuated by black eye liner. Wolfram was dressed as one would to _entertain_ —

The Maou growled deep within Yuuri’s subconscious, but Yuuri willed himself to let the other remain dormant, even when he himself felt burning pyre of fury.

“Wolfram, _why_ were you in there? What were you—”

“I do not need to explain myself to you,” came Wolfram’s pompous reply. “I do as I please.” _As I should have done since the beginning._

Yuuri’s patience thinned. “Wolfram, stop this rebellious act!”

The blonde sneered, chin held high. “Who says it is an act?”

Yuuri opened his mouth but then a familiar voice called out behind him. “Shibuya!”

Yuuri ignored Murata’s voice, instead he watched as Wolfram gasped quietly and fought his flustered self. Yuuri’s eyes never wavered from Wolfram as the blonde turned slightly away as Murata neared. Watched as the prince closed his arms around himself, discreetly buttoning up his open blouse with one hand and awkwardly pulling down the edges of his mini shorts with the other as if hoping the fabric of the shorts would lengthen to cover his indecency.

Yuuri suspected Wolfram did not wish to humiliate himself in front of Murata. And more importantly, perhaps Murata had no knowledge of what Wolfram had been up to until now. What has happened in his absence?

“I was told you just arrived. What’s happened?” Murata asked, his eyebrows turning to a concerned frown as he looked at one then the other in turn.

Yuuri scoffed incredulously at him, at last facing Murata. “That is _my_ question.”

“Bielefelt—”

Wolfram was already marching away without a word. Yuuri held Murata back by the grip on his shoulder. “What is going on here, Murata? And why was Wolf in there?”

“I’ll find out,” was all Murata told him before he quickly caught up to Wolfram, following the prince down the pathway to the castle. Murata could feel the silent fury that thrummed through Wolfram’s body as the blonde explained himself and told Murata of the woman plastered on Yuuri. And the embarrassment he felt when the guests and staff witnessed the whole scene.

“The girl was inebriated, Bielefelt.” Murata consoled him, even though he knew it was in vain. “A bath maid speaking her recited lines as she would a paying guest.”

When Wolfram said nothing, he looked at the prince with a guarded but concerned look. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Wolfram gritted out, his hands in fists.

Murata had observed a pattern in Wolfram’s emotions. When the prince felt happy and care-free, he’d call his and Shibuya’s name and it was only when he was shy, or something upset him he’d use the word ‘sir’. He did not like it and he had a gut feeling neither did Shibuya.

“She was the same one,” Murata heard Wolfram murmur under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

Trying to dispel the sudden tension Murata confessed. “I knew you were at the party all along you know.”

Wolfram paused and turned to him eyes wide. “Those traitors! I told the staff to keep quiet—”

“They did. It was I who told them not to let you know that I knew.”

“Hm.” Wolfram looked away embarrassed when Murata gave him an amused grin. Murata being person that he was—how Wolfram thought he could elude the all-knowing Sage proved he was still like a child. He suspected Murata was the reason why he was not bothered by the random men in the party. Now that he thought of it, Murata probably ensured his safety all along from afar…

Having reached his room Wolfram said a cordial goodnight and shut the bedroom door, leaving no more room for conversation.

~*~

It was a somber breakfast the next morning in the sunroom. Even Murata’s presence with them at the table did not dispel the awkward hostility between king and prince. Murata rushed through his breakfast with the excuse of something the affianced couple did not even hear. Taking the staff with him the Sage left the room and Yuuri was grateful for he had been wanting to speak privately with Wolfram.

Said Mazoku had donned a light white blouse opened at the chest like always. Drawing Yuuri’s eyes to the soft pink nipple that peeked out slightly. He accented the attire with a rich green vest over that and a gold, thin necklace around his neck. He wore black loose pants that accentuated his thin waist and round bottom. No boots today, just soft sandals since the summer heat was a bit strong today than most days.

Wolfram broke off a piece of his toast, poking the jam on it before leaving it on his plate and blowing on his coffee. Quietly avoiding Yuuri’s intense gaze. He was inwardly startled when Yuuri spoke.

“You are not to host private dinners without me again,” Yuuri told him, his voice gentle but strictly firm, confirming Yuuri’s irritation.

Wolfram knew Yuuri was still mad at him for not giving a reason for being at the gathering last night. And Wolfram would not give it still.

“Wolf? I _forbid_ it.”

Wolfram set the cup back on the saucer, the sound of the dish clinking audibly at his continued silence. Wolfram’s long lashes veiled downward feigning he had not heard Yuuri while adding sugar and cream to his coffee.

At this Yuuri’s patience reached an end and his eyes turned coal as he let the Maou takeover. “And you will not ignore me like this! I’m your fiancée!”

Wolfram looked at him then. Green eyes glaring while his lips sneered coldly upward. “Your fiancée?” he echoed, his voice low and cold.

“Yes.” The Maou hissed firmly, his chin held high wishing to subdue the other as he held Wolfram’s fierce gaze.

In a matter of seconds, the prince stood so abruptly swinging his hand across the table with such force that all the breakfast dishes shattered to the ground. Food flew, and their small round table with it.

“Your fiancée! And your wife!” Wolfram yelled, kicking his chair aside. “Only by law, so like me, _you_ will honor _me_ as well!”

The Maou pulled himself as far back as he could on his chair as Wolfram marched toward him. The Mazoku prince gripped his hands over the Maou’s on the armrests, holding the man captive as he leaned so close to the Maou’s face with such fury the king was shocked silent.

“Unlike your women I have always prided myself in decency and self-worth. As of this moment you _will_ rid the bath house of every _bitch_ you laid with because I will _not_ be a made a fool of anymore.”

Wolfram watched the Maou’s chest heave slightly, his wide pitch-black eyes for the first time looking at him with fear. Wolfram had regretted his wish would change him into something he was not, at first. Now seeing how his new self held power over the Maou he gloried in it. He leaned closer, inches away from the King’s nose as if to kiss him, startling the Maou even more as he said, “Is any of this unclear to you, sir?”

The Maou let out a gasping breath. “No, my pet.”

“Good.” Wolfram paused a few cold heartbeats before at last pulling away. “Excuse me.”

The Maou watched open mouthed as the blonde beauty walked away his shoulders set in firm defiance. Hips swaying. It shocked him how much Wolfram had changed. What has happened to his meek pet?

The staff, who after hearing the commotion had silently witnessed the whole scene at a safe distance. Now with the prince gone they closed in and began cleaning up the breakfast mess in silent discretion.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” one of them braved to ask.

The Maou blinked a few times coming back to himself. He cleared his throat and stood from his chair. “Yes. Send message to release the girls from their duties in bath house. Murata knows which ones.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

For the next few days, the Mazoku prince was remote and utterly withdrawn. He kept himself in a self-imposed prison inside his room. When invited to dine Wolfram would sometimes decline and order his meals be sent up. If the Maou pressed, Wolfram would lash out verbally to drive him off.

As he often did the Maou would look up from his lonesome dinner, eyeing the staircase from the hall, expecting his pet standing there. Only there was no one.

“You’ve not touched your dinner, Your Highness.” Murata’s young apprentice observed, passing a worried look over him. “Is there something else you require?”

The Maou dragged his hand wearily through his hair. His distress over Wolfram’s continued fury at him made all food unpalatable. And his nights restless. Though his emotions were in chaos he willed himself to try to remain courteous to his staff as he stood. “No. I have finished.”

His intention was to retire to his room quietly and mull over a plan on how he would go about earning Wolfram’s trust again. Yet his body betrayed his mind as he crossed the familiar path to Wolfram’s room.

Once inside, the Maou noticed the windows open again. This night was warmer than most and Wolfram had kicked the covers down the edge of the bed. A common habit he had noticed of the blonde. As he made his way close to the bed, he trailed a hand over the cool nightgown Wolfram had left on the armchair where he usually sat. He lifted the fabric to his nose, inhaling the clean richness of all that was Wolfram. Like him, Wolfram had taken a bath before dinner.

The demon king noticed Wolfram lessened his anger when Yuuri was in the fore although this fact both displeased and saddened him. Yet, if by doing this meant he would be able to approach the prince, he would let his human counterpart take over. If it meant he would have Wolfram back. _If Wolfram will take him back._ His head hurt considering the possibility that the prince might not.

And what would he do then? Before all this Wolfram’s presence made him forget how it felt to be alone in the world. Now every evening as he made his rounds in the bath house each blissful burst of laughter from the coupled guests made him feel more alone. More envious. Their blithe and joyful flirting brought back Yuuri’s isolation with a cutting edge. And he wondered if Wolfram felt the same, too.

He weakened more every day, his need and desire for the prince eroding his good intentions and his will. Especially tonight as his eyes raked over Wolfram’s nude figure sprawled on the bed. Wolfram’s serene expression so angelic in sleep. Skin a marble wonder as he lay on his belly, legs slightly parted, revealing Wolfram’s…

Oh. Temptation had never been more succulently compelling.

Not able to resist he ran a dark finger over the curve of Wolfram’s neck, down to his spine, pausing briefly just over the hills of the prince’s buttocks.

 _Wolf, do you hate me?_ Yuuri thought. _I do not blame you if you do._

Wolfram opened his eyes just as Yuuri’s thumb ghosted the crease between his buttocks, pressing into his intimate opening just barely with the pad of his finger.

“You! How dare you!” Wolfram cried, sitting up and green eyes wide. “What are you doing in my room?”

Wolfram felt his cheeks boil warm with embarrassment as Yuuri’s eyes blatantly stared between his bare legs, keeping his sight there as Wolfram tried to hide his nudity in clumsy haste with the blanket at his feet.

“Get away—go! Go!” he ordered in a hiss.

“Wolf. Do you truly not want me anymore?” came the question.

“Of course not! Not after you cast me aside like an obstacle in your path! Twice!”

“It hurt me more than you think. And I’ll apologize as many times as you wish—”

“Then it will have to be a lifetime—”

“Agreed. Just…be mine again.”

“No.” came Wolfram’s sharp reply. “Perhaps someone more _desirable_ —”

“Wolf, please.” Yuuri shut his eyes as the guilt tightened his chest like a cruel vise. “I know I hurt you. Profoundly.” Yuuri opened his eyes. “I let you go. It was my first mistake and one I will never make again. I regret it with every fiber of my being.”

Wolfram turned away incredulously. “Your regret comes much too late, sir.”

Wolfram had his front covered with the blanket, only his back was still in Yuuri’s sight. “Does it?”

“Yes. And I was a fool to believe I was special to you…”

“You are, Wolf. You _always_ were. It was I that felt unworthy of you.”

Yuuri stared at the horrid burn on Wolfram’s shoulder, the color like a mild sunburn. The only flaw to the rest of Wolfram’s marble skin. Yuuri pressed his mouth gently just above the burn. Then slid his lips up to Wolfram neck. He paused there, expecting the other to resist him. When Wolfram did not, he resumed and punctuated every phrase with gentle and warm kisses.

“Everything you gave me so freely before. Your love. Your purity. Your very essence. I want it all back. I want _you_ back. _I love you._ ”

Wolfram shut his eyes, savoring the feel of those lips on his skin. Arching his neck, gasping softly as Yuuri’s tongue lapped and sucked. Fear darted through him. The lingered passion he felt toward his king so obvious in his secret desire to feel more. As Yuuri used his hand to turn Wolfram’s mouth to his, Wolfram stopped him with a palm on Yuuri’s chest.

“Why do you resist?” Yuuri asked. “You know you want this.”

“I do not.”

“You do. I _felt_ it.”

“No, I hate you!” Wolfram turned sharply and slapped Yuuri’s face. His heart aching when Yuuri made no effort to defend himself as Wolfram slapped him again. Yuuri sat there, letting Wolfram vent his anger. Wolfram forced himself to feel hatred, yet the tears that flowed down his cheeks betrayed his heart. His soul. “I should never have come to you that night! I’m angry with you for…for…!”

Yuuri took his chance, wrapping his arms around the prince. Holding the heart broken blonde as the prince sobbed on his shoulders. “I know.”

Wolfram wailed in both anger and sadness. His old self wanting to forgive Yuuri, but his new self still held a grudge and wished to be left alone. He had never been more confused. Yuuri’s embrace was warm and tender, and Wolfram hated himself for feeling so weak. For allowing the safety and security he felt in those arms embrace him. Hated how his tears wouldn’t stop flowing…

Wolfram bit his lip to dull his sobs reminding Yuuri of the day Wolfram had shyly grazed his lips on his only for Yuuri to turn away. He had forgotten how Wolfram’s shy, feathered kiss had felt then...

“I long to kiss you.” Yuuri murmured gently, pulling away slightly to look into Wolfram’s eyes. Their noses touching. “Can I?”

“No! You deserve nothing from me,” Wolfram sniffled, wishing his body mirrored as cold and cruel as he sounded. Ironically, he didn’t move when Yuuri held his chin in place. “You—”

Suddenly the Maou’s lips were on his, pressing soft but insistent. Tongue delving inside Wolfram’s mouth. The sensation new and so…intoxicating. Wolfram tangled his fingers in the Maou’s long hair, loving how the king’s hands roamed down his back to knead his bare bottom.

“Enough!” Wolfram growled between kisses. The smacking sound of their heated kiss in between his words so obscene as the Maou laid Wolfram upon the bed. Wolfram was acutely aware of how hard he had become. He gasped tossing his face to the side when the King reached under the bed sheets to firmly grope him between his legs.

The Maou took advantage of their broken kiss to smooch a trail down the prince’s body. Lapping with tongue, and sucking skin, pulling down the sheets as he went. Desperate torturous kisses driving Wolfram to sex-induced insanity.

The blonde yelped when the King lapped the bush of blonde curls briefly, breath hovering achingly over the tip of Wolfram’s erection.

 _Resist him. Please resist him!_ Wolfram urged himself yet, in the whirlwind of heated emotions, Wolfram’s body would not listen.

“Sir—Oh!!” Wolfram cried out, his hips lurching upward the instant the King’s mouth took him. With every pull, every swirl of tongue brought Wolfram closer and closer to the edge. The new sensation, the pleasure he had never felt before earning more tears, squeal, and gasps. And everything in between.

 _It feels good._ Wolfram chanted inwardly. _It feels good._

The King savored every sound, every twitch of Wolfram’s legs and every tremble. He looked up briefly, his lips making a sucking sound when he pulled away briefly. Wolfram’s erection now gleaming wet and still hard.

The prince covered his wet eyes with the palms of his hands as he cried softly, the passion too overwhelming as he let Yuuri spread his legs farther apart.

Yuuri got his first glimpse of Wolfram’s entrance, the sight bringing forth the Maou. Back in the cave he had cruelly left Wolfram unsatisfied and trembling in pain. Those arms had wrapped so tightly around him seeking solace that he had refused to give. No more.

“This time,” came the demon king’s poignant voice. “I’ll pleasure you to completion.”

Wolfram shook his head profusely, his chest heaving.

“This is for you, baby,” he heard the Maou’s voice say before taking Wolfram again, applying strong suction to the head this time with each pull, his head bobbing erratically. With a sharp stifled scream Wolfram came. And all too quickly. His body shivering violently.

The Maou pulled away quickly in desire to witness Wolfram’s first orgasm. Watched as the erection softened before his eyes, glistening with both come and saliva. The amount of Wolfram’s essence that drizzled was too much. It only proved Wolfram’s purity. He eyed the blonde’s small red pucker briefly before he leaned in and pecked Wolfram’s pink balls, one in turn. “You do not pleasure yourself do you, my pet?”

 _No._ Wolfram confessed secretly. He allowed the demon king to lay his head on his chest, feeling his breath on his skin as the Maou sighed contently. Wolfram turned his head and caught sight of the candle holder on his bedside table. Suddenly he willed to set his mind and heart against giving in too soon. Forgiving too soon.

“Let go of me,” Wolfram said in a cool-nerved calm, giving the king a light shove as he sat up, the sweetness of the moment gone.

The Maou quietly watched Wolfram clean himself with a handkerchief before he stood from the bed as Wolfram pulled out an underwear from the dresser. The blonde could not help his shyness as the Maou pulled up his underwear for him. All the while, Wolfram avoided the Maou’s gaze yet secretly savored every touch. The way the Maou hooked a finger on the middle lining of the underwear, adding pressure to Wolfram’s intimate opening over the fabric with two middle fingers just briefly before Wolfram turned to fasten the buttons on his night gown.

The Maou regarded him somberly. “Look at me, my pet?” 

Wolfram shook his head. “You believe with just touching me will make me forget how cruel you were to me.”

“Of course not. I—”

“Well I refuse to be your plaything!” Wolfram hissed. His demeanor suddenly cold. “Just one more body in the long line to satisfy your savage heat.”

The Maou’s eyes narrowed with sudden darkness. “Don’t say that again. You are not and never will be such a thing.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it is the truth and because I love you.” The Maou said finally. “I love you very much. And even knowing this hateful side of you, I promise these feelings of mine remain the same. Between now and forever.”

Wolfram said nothing, donning his night coverlet over his night gown and his slippers.

“I will not press you anymore. Now let us go to bed—”

“No.”

Wolfram rushed out of the room and Yuuri waited a moment then dropped his gaze dejectedly when he realized Wolfram was not returning.

_Damn._

The night was soft and cool as Wolfram marched into the gardens, candle holder in hand. Still flushing and heart pounding and his flesh still burning with the feel of the King’s mouth on him. Never has he experienced anything like _that._ The images of what The Maou had done to him earlier, what Wolfram had allowed…

He looked up at the round moon above, sighing as he sat on a stone bench. The gardens never failed to soothe him. The smell of damp earth, the sweet scent of the roses in the air…

Wolfram closed his eyes inhaling deeply, letting the worry and uncertainty fade. Peace. Calm. That was what he sought for in the dark, fragrant garden.

**_“I love you so much. And even knowing this hateful side of you, I promise these feelings of mine remain the same. Between now and forever.”_ **

Those words, the look on the King’s face. So sincere Wolfram could almost believe them to be true—

No! No. He cannot let himself be caught in empty words again! What if the King had lied to persuade him to do as he willed? Trapping Wolfram in a spell of lust. Oh, no, no, no.

 _Don’t come back, don’t come back,_ Wolfram chanted inwardly, grasping the candle holder so tight it the cheap metal began to bend. _I do not want to come back and be hurt again…_

“Ah. Good evening, Bielefelt.”

As in everything else he did, Murata completed every task meticulously, and coupled with his complete lack of ambition, made him a perfect servant to this place. And his reserved, polite, and honorable demeanor made him also a good person to rely on. The blonde prince could find no fault in this person who had been nothing but kind to him and so willing to be his friend. Since the beginning.

Wolfram watched Murata dismount his horse, admiring the man’s masculine grace. He smiled sadly at the spectacled man walking toward him. Murata paused at Wolfram’s stillness. “Bielefelt, are you all right?”

“I am now that you are here.”

Wolfram reached for both his hands, tangling their fingers together and squeezing them. Secretly seeking some sort of strength and support. Consolation to the troubled world inside his head.

“What’s this for?” Murata asked curiously, gently taking the old candle holder from one of Wolfram’s hands and holding it up.

“It’s nothing important,” Wolfram lied. He watched intently as Murata placed the small item inside his kimono sleeve then pulled him to his feet.

“Come, let’s walk for a bit.”

Wolfram let Murata lead them on a slow walking pace in the courtyard garden. They remained silent for a while, each hoping the other spoke first. Murata squeezed Wolfram’s hand, shaking it a bit to catch the prince’s attention, who seemed so lost in thought as they walked.

“The King doesn’t wish for you to work in the bath house anymore.”

“I don’t give a damn what he wants.” Wolfram snapped rudely.

“Those words do not suit you.”

“They do now.” Wolfram looked up at Murata. “I’ll have my brothers annul the engagement.”

Murata pulled away shocked. “What of your reputation? The scandal? There won’t be a town who won’t know of this.”

“I don’t care.” Wolfram said miserably and shaking his head. “I don’t care for none of it anymore.”

_I just want to stop hurting._

“Oh, Bielefelt, don’t be rash.” Murata embraced Wolfram gently, like a brother consoling his downcast sibling. “I have never seen Shibuya care for anyone as much as he does for you. The man crumbles on the inside each time you rebuff him cruelly.”

Wolfram took advantage of the Sage’s closeness and hid his face firmly in Murata’s chest. “I refuse to get involved with a _scoundrel_ who’s only wish is to debauch me.”

“That is not true. He is alone, too.” Wolfram looked up at those words, staring up at Murata. Taking in the words quietly as the Sage continued. “He needs you Bielefelt and your love. You _both_ do.”

Clutching tight to the man’s robes Wolfram’s eyes misted at Murata’s every heartfelt word. Murata shook his shoulder gently. “Give each other another chance, hm?”

“But I…I have made a mess of it. _I’ve_ become a mess.” Wolfram admitted shaking his head softly in regret. “I’m such a mess…”

“Then I’ll fix this mess again.” Murata stated suddenly, capturing Wolfram’s cold face between his hands. In those green pools, Murata saw the sweet prince he came to know locked within, longing to burst out. A glimmer of hope filling his heart. Wolfram was not lost as he thought, just trapped in his fear of being heartbroken again. He gave Wolfram a smile so bright, saying “You’ll be all right.”

Wolfram nodded his head and closed his eyes as he hid his face in Murata’s chest, winding his arms so tightly around the man’s waist. Clinging to hope that only Murata seemed to always give him.

“Mm,” Murata hummed, giving Wolfram a peck on his forehead before winding his own arms tightly around the prince. Wolfram drowned in Murata’s familiar scent that eased his anxiety.

“Thank you.” The prince muffled. “You have always been a good friend to me…”

Murata opened his eyes, his smile melancholic. “My friendship is all I can give you, Bielefelt.”

Wolfram sighed, nodding sadly and gave him a tender, “I know.”

Upon the second-floor window, with a perfect view of them in the garden embracing each other, Yuuri’s brown eyes changed into the Maou’s liquid dark ones. He watched as Murata twisted his body comically left and right playfully, earning a soft giggle from Wolfram who still clung to him in their embrace.

The Maou growled softly, hands fisting at his side. His eyes glowing pitch black.


	6. Chapter Five: Jealousy

**WARNING:** Explicit sexual content on this chapter.

**Chapter Five: Jealousy**

“Breakfast is ready, Your Highness.”

The cover was lifted from the large platter, revealing large rolls of sausages, scrambled eggs, toast, biscuits, griddle cakes and flavored jams. And three small bowls of fresh mixed fruit. As the maids began to serve the food Yuuri quietly observed Wolfram and Murata carefully as they began to eat blithely.

Murata’s apprentice came in, quietly bowing in acknowledgement to the king before handing Murata a list of guests.

“Are these all the guests for today?” Murata asked. The lad nodded. “Not many…”

“It is farming season.” Wolfram inquired, looking at the Sage from his glass of orange juice. “Everyone must be busy.”

“You are right.” Murata agreed, smiling at him. “As should we all.”

Wolfram returned the smile as Murata quietly gave his instruction before both men resumed to finishing their breakfast. For someone who did not know of their engagement they would say Murata and Wolfram were the affianced couple by the chemistry between them.

Murata has been in the king’s employ for years and was a childhood friend. Yuuri trusted Murata, for the Sage had shown and proved his loyalty. And Wolfram, even though the blonde was still at odds with him and the Maou, Yuuri refused to believe the prince would go as far as to be…intimate with Murata.

No. Not Wolfram. Never. _‘They are only friends.’_

 _Don’t be childish, you fool,_ the Maou snapped. _He has betrayed us._

_‘Murata would never—'_

_I was not talking about him._

Yuuri shook his head inwardly, trying to dispel the Maou’s suspicions. And yet his mind was filled with how he had seen Wolfram and Murata in the gardens.

 _‘After all we put Wolf through, how can you think that? This is all more in part **your** fault anyway!’ _Yuuri countered. _‘Now stay out of my head!’_

Wolfram glanced tentatively at Yuuri while spreading butter and jam on a warm biscuit. Noting the other’s untouched food, Yuuri’s stillness, his human face hard and…troubled, it seemed. Inwardly troubled.

Just then, visions of last night flashed in his head. He thought of how much he had allowed his fiancée to touch, to feel, to taste the night before. Perhaps Yuuri was also thinking of last night, as well? As if on cue, Yuuri caught Wolfram’s gaze and the prince looked away quickly. He hoped Murata took his time with breakfast this morning for he had no idea what he would say or do when Murata left.

Murata took one last bite from his small serving of sweet griddle cakes before dowsing the rest of his orange juice. “Well, I need to see to my duties.”

Damn.

Murata stood, his apprentice already waiting for him on the side. Yuuri’s eyes never wavered from the blonde, watched as green eyes followed Murata’s every move as Murata’s boy helped the Sage dress in his kimono. A habitual act that was now common after so many meals taken together. Yuuri was never bothered by how comfortable Murata had become accustomed to doing this in front of them. Until now.

Murata wore purple today, a color well befitting the man and with his long hair and glasses and that refined noble face gave Murata an air of grace and a masculinity so different from Yuuri’s. And the Sage’s polite and reserved nature as always was never amiss. An attractive quality that, Yuuri noticed long ago, charmed everyone under his management.

Including Wolfram, it seemed.

Only when Murata finished dressing did he acknowledge the prince who still gazed at him expectantly. Wolfram smiled softly, stretching his right hand out as Murata walked over to the table again to kiss it briefly. He then turned to Yuuri, nodding his head respectfully. “Shibuya.”

Yuuri said nothing at this, only raised his cup to his lips, feigning interest in something outside the window. And the awkward silence Wolfram feared after Murata had gone seemed to last hours. It was unnerving. Uncomfortable. 

Wolfram took another bite of bread and sausage before dabbing his mouth daintily with the napkin. “I take my leave as well.”

Seeing the blonde ready to rise from his chair, Yuuri placed his hand quickly over his, gripping it tight. “Wolf.”

The blonde startled. The touch of Yuuri’s skin, the warmth there all too familiar. Thinking back on the fiery touches and carnal desires from last night, both hungry for that something either refused to say in words. Wolfram’s legs trembled slightly under the table.

Heart hammering Wolfram fought the urge to pull his hand away, taking hold of his napkin with the other hand and nervously placing it back over his lap. And as he looked up into Yuuri’s brown eyes he willed himself to calm down on both his emotions and thoughts. For all of it was causing an arousal, something he could not hide under his choice of clothes today.

“What is it?”

Yuuri grinned, pleased that Wolfram did not rebuff his touch. He had worried the prince would be more distant after last night, for Yuuri admitted to himself he went too fast and gave too much out of arousal and temptation. Yet, if anything Wolfram looked composed and maybe even…compliant?

“Will you let me start over with you?” Yuuri finally asked, the prince’s cat-like eyes staring at him with such intensity. His nerves made his hand cold against Wolfram’s hand.

“All right.” It was not a hard question to answer for Wolfram had already decided to take Murata’s advice and try again with Yuuri.

“Thank you.” Yuuri said, sounding relieved and wishing he could brush Wolfram’s golden locks that were not there anymore. “I will take you anywhere you want today and every other day after. Would you like that?”

Without a reply, the blonde stood and Yuuri stood with him and before he could change his mind, Wolfram said, “Let me get changed.”

~*~

“When will you cease pacing? It has only been twenty-five minutes.” Murata commented keeping Yuuri company while waiting at the entrance of the castle for Wolfram.

 _Well, it feels longer,_ Yuuri thought, eyeing the staircase for the fourth time, expecting the blonde Mazoku standing there. Only there was no one and that troubled him even more.

“Have you thought of where you’d take him?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Yuuri confessed, swinging his arms at his sides, and pacing again. His agitation clearly apparent.

“What is wrong? I’ve not seen you like this before.” Murata noted.

“I suppose it’s because…” _I let everything between us become such a mess and I don’t know how to go about fixing it. And a large part of me fears it was only a bluff and Wolfram would not show._

Yuuri startled when Murata squeezed his shoulder.

“Despite his change recently, Bielefelt is not like that,” Murata eased as if reading Yuuri’s thoughts. “He’ll come, Shibuya.”

“Right.” Yuuri turned his back to Murata, mortified.

_Can I trust in your word, now, Murata? What is going on between you and Wolf—_

Yuuri paused his suspicions and stared quizzically at Murata who had grown suddenly quiet and was staring up at the second floor in a daze behind Yuuri. Yuuri followed Murata’s eyes to see Wolfram at last descending the stairs.

Yuuri was shocked silent, lost in all that was Wolfram, his eyes roaming up and down the prince’s body. Down to the lace ruffle at the collar and white chemise, to Wolfram’s thin waist adorned by the familiar black leather arming belt that showed off every curve of his bottom and hips once tightened with the lace. To his tight black shorts and black leggings that reached up to his knees and riding boots. The black eye liner that Wolfram used to accentuate his eyes gave him a look of fierce beauty. And his short crisp hair that he spiked up gently…the prince was the living, breathing definition of irresistible. A true Queen. And his fiancée.

When Wolfram reached the last step, Yuuri bowed to him briefly in reverence. Then took Wolfram’s outstretched hand and kissing it before giving the prince a short twirl in place and saying, “You look divine.”

“Don’t I always?” he said coyly, draping a small brown satchel that Murata handed to him with a tiny smile.

Once outside, Wolfram expected a carriage but saw two horses ready and saddled, held by two guards that he suspected would be escorting them on their journey.

“I remembered how you enjoyed riding last time.” Yuuri explained. “Is it all right?”

Wolfram gave him a smile so genuine that the Maou’s heart burst with happiness. “Yes!”

~*~

They stopped at the large town set at the mouth of the port near the ocean. Yuuri sent his guards back to the castle along with one of the horses he and Wolfram had rode in. His pride and joy swelling when Wolfram clung to his arm as he gave the order. He was already looking forward to the ride back to the castle together with Wolfram in one horse. With Wolfram sitting behind him, his arms around his chest, but he if the blonde insisted, he would let the prince take the reins. Wolfram riding in the front was not a bad choice either.

There was activity and noise everywhere. Stalls filled both sides of the main roadway. The music of the street musicians livened up the morning. So euphoric was he that Yuuri indulged Wolfram in anything the prince fancied. He took Wolfram’s satchel and insisted on carrying it while Wolfram shopped.

“Authentic hand-made pieces of fine jewelry!” announced the seller. The man’s voice resonating loud to be heard over the bustling sounds of the market. “All imported from three countries in the East!”

Yuuri glanced briefly at Wolfram who was intimately engaged with books from two merchant booksellers before he approached the small middle eastern man.

“Your Highness,” the man bowed. Yuuri’s eyes roaming the table filled with the merchant’s bountiful jewels and other worldly trinkets. “How may I help you?”

When he returned to Wolfram’s side moments later, Yuuri was relieved. The blonde had not noticed he had strayed to buy Wolfram a secret gift.

“What have you got?” Yuuri asked casually once the books were bought.

Wolfram shook his head. “Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

“Well, perhaps you can recommend me something.”

“I did not think His Majesty read,” Wolfram teased lightly, pausing their walk briefly to place the books inside the satchel Yuuri carried at his side.

“It’s Yuuri. Remember?”

“Hmm.” Wolfram gave him a tiny smile before hooking his hands on Yuuri’s offered shoulder.

The breeze blew steady and cool as late evening arrived. Inwardly Wolfram could not banish his smile the way Yuuri kept a firm hand around his waist all throughout the day. The jealousy transparent in Yuuri’s brown eyes when men leered at Wolfram’s body. His fiancée’s behavior gave Wolfram a sense of pride knowing the king felt so possessive of him.

The sky turned a swirl of orange with the first twinkles of stars just beginning to show just when they returned. Wolfram and Yuuri stopped at a clearing a few miles near the castle, dismounting on the familiar hill that overlooked the lights of the towns below. The sounds of muffled chatter and distant music giving a sense of de ja vu as Wolfram settled himself upon the soft grass beneath a tree overlooking the valley. He felt Yuuri’s arm wound around his shoulder, pressing him close. And in that moment Wolfram allowed himself to be held, wrapping his own arms around his fiancée’s waist as Yuuri rested upon the tree’s trunk. They embraced each other this way in silent comfort, sitting on the familiar hill, both mindful of the fact that this was the place of their first outing. And now their second.

“Wolf?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want you working in the bath house. Surely Murata told you this.”

“He might have mentioned it.” Wolfram replied dryly.

“I understand your indignation, truly I do,” Yuuri bravely pressed on, regretting mentioning the topic as Wolfram pulled away from his arms. “But, please, stop working there. I don’t wish to use force on this.”

Wolfram looked quite surprised at that for he blinked at him twice. “You wouldn’t.”

“ _Yes,_ I would. Because if it’s to spite me—"

Wolfram knew he had to explain.

“Sir. I admit at the start that was my intention, but now it is different. I _like_ working in the bath house.” The guilt Yuuri carried only seemed to weigh more at the prince’s words as Wolfram continued. “To be honest, I like everyone there and am used to working with them now. And it helps to keep me busy.”

 _Oh, I can keep you busy_ , the Maou’s sultry voice ran in Yuuri’s head.

Wolfram sighed softly. “These past few weeks have been…” _Confusing._

Wolfram’s thoughts could not escape the past. His head couldn’t forget the hurt still, and he couldn’t seem to find nothing to ease it. He took a deep breath, convincing himself that all of today was going all right and he should not ruin it by venting his continued grudge. He should leave it in the past, forgive and start over, like Yuuri had said, but…

“Have been what?” Yuuri asked, frowning when Wolfram shook his head dismissively. There was that silence again, Yuuri noticed. Wolfram was reining in his emotions and he didn’t like it; he did not like Wolfram’s silence. “Wolf—say something; berate me. Yell at me. Tell me I was the one who complicated everything! That it was my fault—”

“It _was_ your fault.” Wolfram looked away briefly, ashamed for he had promised himself he would not keep quiet like before. And even after all this time he hadn’t changed. 

“Pet, I know I am the one who forced this upon you and I probably don’t deserve another chance with you,” Wolfram stiffened at the Maou’s words. “I made our union difficult for you, I know that, and I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Wolfram looked at Yuuri’s brown eyes, the king’s fingers caressed the blonde’s cheek, grazed his lips, and slid down to rub gently down his throat. “I’m sorry, Wolf.”

Wolfram felt his cheerful pretense he had masked himself all of today falling away. Felt Yuuri’s words sink into the cold numbness of his heart and the feelings he had kept locked away. _No. I think I am the one complicating everything now because, even after all this time, my heart…my everything…still loves you._

Wolfram felt the heat of Yuuri’s body as the other gradually embraced him. Could smell his betrothed’s male scent. Could feel the hard muscle under his cheek and ear. The pulse of Yuuri’s heartbeat—or was it his own?

“You smell nice,” he heard the Maou’s voice say, holding still when the man cupped Wolfram’s cheek. The blonde looked up at his human fiancée, only now the soft brown eyes had turned a familiar shade of coal. The Demon King.

Wolfram gave him a look that made Yuuri want to grab him, kiss him, and ravish him. Perhaps take Wolfram into his mouth again…

Would Wolfram enjoy it this time? Perhaps it was too soon. Wolfram needed more time and Yuuri would give it for he did not wish to chase Wolfram away again. Did not wish to have Wolfram avoid him again, see the coldness in those jaded eyes that he came to love so much. Nay. He would be patient and wait for Wolfram to come to him on his own. Willingly. Eager. Aroused.

And we would treat him kindly. Yuuri vowed inwardly. And as soon as he did, he felt his counterpart agree and give him a confirmed, _Yes._

“Why are you looking at me that way?” the prince asked at the king’s reverent look.

“I am remembering the night I woke you as you slept naked in bed. And how you felt when I took you into my mouth.” Both Yuuri and the Maou shuddered, the memory of it heating his groin. “How you tasted…”

Wolfram said nothing, only hid his face on the King’s chest, perhaps out of embarrassment at this sudden change in topic as the other continued.

“I’m a demon indeed. Wanting you the way I do. You’re so…” the Maou rasped gently, closing his eyes for a moment as if fighting himself. “When I look at you, I burn.”

_As do I._

Yuuri startled lightly when the blonde prince crawled languidly over him, his face only inches away from the other. He dipped his head to the Maou’s neck and throat, giving phantom breath kisses, something he observed the maids do the night of the private party. Hearing Yuuri’s breath hitch and seeing at how his awkward nearness made the King writhe lightly; Wolfram allowed himself to stare down at the Maou’s clothed swollen cock. The thickness of it making his belly twist wondering how it would feel to have it buried deep inside him. And he was tired of denying himself Yuuri. His Maou. His King.

In the world he grew up in, Wolfram’s life had been safe but barren of touch. This person wanted him, ached for him. There was no hiding what the man needed from Wolfram any more than he himself wanted Yuuri. How he _always_ wanted Yuuri. Longing to be touched by him. Only his King. Wolfram’s heart pounded rapidly at the idea of letting the Maou do just that.

“I want…”

“What do you want? My heart? My body? My life? All of me and all I own is yours to with as you please.”

A pause.

Wolfram could not find the words to respond to that, so he tentatively rubbed himself against Yuuri’s leg, his own hard arousal barely hidden in his shorts. He could not bring himself to ask for more than this, but Yuuri seemed to know what he needed. He raised one knee as if understanding instinctively what Wolfram secretly craved.

 _Rub yourself against me_ was the invitation he saw from Yuuri’s frank and open gaze.

Embarrassed yet eager, Wolfram could not help himself. When he thrust against the hardness of his king’s leg the sensation burned and stung from the base of his body. He stifled a sound that almost escaped him. Oh, god, it felt so good.

Yuuri grazed Wolfram’s cheek, his chin ad rubbed a thumb just barely across the prince’s lips as the blonde continued to rub himself like a wanton. Suddenly Wolfram's eyelashes dropped, shielding his green eyes from his fiancée. “Don’t look at me. I’m so shameful.”

“No. You’re beautiful. You look beautiful doing that,” Yuuri’s voice growled. His hand palming Wolfram’s behind firmly before sliding inside his shorts and cupping the Mazoku’s painfully engorged arousal, making the blonde gasp.

“Oh…!” Wolfram thrust against that broad and large hand, giving a choked cry as his body suddenly released, soaking through his clothing and the Maou’s hand.

Wolfram had observed Yuuri’s courtesy since he had woken from the fire. Noticed the pains Yuuri took to provide Wolfram with every comfort. Indulge his selfish whims. And try as he might Wolfram could not seem to find the road to hate Yuuri. The barriers he thought he had built around himself were probably only an illusion of his suppressed emotions. It seemed the more distance he tried to put between himself and the king the more aware he had become of the man.

Wolfram hid his face against a muscular shoulder and the tears were there before he knew it, damping the Maou’s black blouse. The shuddered “I’m sorry” he whispered into the king’s ear pierced the Maou’s heart.

His pet had done nothing—nothing at all—that he should feel the need to apologize for. He recalled the flicker of green eyes that momentarily showed sadness and heartache each time they looked upon his. The normally reverent gaze Wolfram used to give him before all this tangled conundrum was dulled. And the way Wolfram avoided saying his name since made Yuuri cringe. And the Maou knew it was all his doing.

He had let go of Wolfram twice. Too foolish and too frightened to reach out, but he would not allow it to happen again. Not a third time. He tore at the prince’s thin blouse from the shoulder revealing Wolfram’s back and inwardly called upon his Maryoku, his hand glowing a soft blue as he touched the burned scar there.

The blonde prince arched his neck, gasping softly as a soft, cool sensation ran upward from his back to his head. Feeling the Maou’s power at last healing him. He did not even notice his hair lengthening, blonde curls draping well past his shoulders as the prince let his body fall upon the cool grass; long, golden hair splayed out.

 _My Maryoku worked,_ Yuuri thought joyously. Wolfram was healed.

Wolfram stared at the Maou’s eyes, drowning in their inky blackness as the Demon King leaned above him, trapping him there with his hands and shoulders. The blue light of his king’s Maryoku glowing softly around his body, humming, and pulsing gently. He reached up, gazing reverently at it while twining both his hands and fingers in the Maou’s soft hair. _If I have had my Maryoku, I wonder what color it would be…?_

Blonde eyebrows furrowed, examining the handsome face not far from his own. He took in the olive skin, the stoic expression of the Maou, his lips, and his long dark hair falling at his shoulders. _He could almost be Murata if it were not for the eyes_ —

Wolfram jerked at the thought, gasping inwardly and shocked that for those few brief heartbeats he saw Murata’s face…

And as if reading his thoughts, the Maou’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you thinking of when you are looking at me?”

“No one.” And to add to his quick bluff, Wolfram touched his mouth with one finger, pulling down his bottom lip (another small detail he had observed the bath maids do the night of the party). “Just you.”

It was invitation enough. The prince had only just done this when the Maou suddenly delved in. A wild dance of tongue, hungry and desperate against the prince’s mouth.

Wolfram broke the kiss a few times for air, but each time he did the Maou would claim his mouth again before at last showing mercy. The sight of Wolfram’s mouth gasping, his lips wet and swollen a fiery pink tempting him to the core. The urge that had built up inside the demon king burst and took over.

Wolfram had tempted the beast. He knew that and still he tempted…

"Wait…" Wolfram moaned when the Maou gently turned him on his belly, his own breath ragged, out of fevered lust and sudden fear. _I am not ready._ He tried crawling away but the Maou only clutched at the hem of his shorts, tugging hard until Wolfram’s pale cheeks bounced out of their attire.

“No undergarment.” The Maou licked his lips. “Was this your plan all along, my pet?”

“No!” _The shorts were too tight for anything else!_

“I want to see you ride me. Want to see your face as you take a man for the first time,” the Maou panted erratically. Like an animal. A beast. A demon. “I want you to share my bed between now and forever. And I can't wait any longer." He pressed his nose between the pale cheeks and inhaled deeply.

“Sir!” Wolfram felt his face aflame at the King’s words and raunchy behavior, trying in vain to pull his shorts back up. The scene so familiar. His mind recalling all the times both gave in to pleasure just like this. At the cave. The night before. And both those nights ended so sourly—No. Not like this again.

Wolfram forced his voice firm and set. “Stop!”

The Maou blinked a few times as if pulled away from a spell. He sat up, his hair and forehead damp with sweat. His cheeks flaming red with shame as he settled down from his wild frenzy. Waking from his illusion and at last seeing Wolfram. Seeing him settle his shorts back up with awkward haste. The sight of his prince disheveled, and wide, green eyes flustered between fear and panic.

“My instincts, my whole body, they were screaming at me to make you mine,” the demon king panted. He had promised himself he would be patient, give Wolfram time. Be gentle with him. Treat him kindly. What has he done? Again. “If you want your freedom, I’ll give it to you.”

Wolfram felt his soul jump. “No! Don’t start that again!”

“You fear of the beast that I am--”

Wolfram shook his head. “I do not, I’m just…” He looked at his king in the eye, bravely receiving the other’s intense gaze. “I’m just _not ready_. So, do not ever say those words to me again! Not ever!”

Letting the words sink in, the Maou nodded as he said at last, “Forgive me.”

Tension gone he observed the prince try in vain to cover his naked chest with the tattered remains of his blouse. And without a second thought he undid his black shirt, holding it behind Wolfram. The prince tentatively pushed his arms into the sleeves, neither saying a word as the blonde buttoned the front. The Maou pulled the Mazoku’s long blonde hair up from the collar. Fluffing it lightly and twining his fingers in between the soft curls just as Wolfram spoke to him.

“I’m ready to go back now, sir.”

~*~

Riding back to Blood Pledge castle was not as awkward as either expected. In Wolfram’s case he felt like a stolen bride riding with his wild and handsome captor.

Wolfram shook his head inwardly at the hoydenish thought. He inwardly grimaced as the horse’s movements made his clothing pull against his skin. (He was still sticky from his release.) He tried in vain to look at the landscape as they rode to familiarize himself with the land that would soon be his, but instead lost himself in all that was his fiancée. Staring at the king’s tousled hair, that strong neck he longed to mark with his lips, swallowing hard at the thought of perhaps taking his king in his mouth like the other did for him…

 _Wolf, I like your eyes on me,_ Yuuri thought, inwardly smiling and his pride as a man swelling in his chest. He had noticed how the blonde’s eyes followed him when he thought the other did not notice.

**Your Maryoku will not work until you both mutually accept each other as lifelong partners.**

His Maryoku did work, though. And this meant that Wolfram’s feelings for him were at last mutual, too. Hope rose within him as the horse rode up a high steep hill. He felt Wolfram tighten his arms round his waist, pressing a soft cheek against his hard, chiseled chest.

Wolfram admitted that he had feared to see Yuuri that morning. He thought much of how to let the King know Wolfram was not upset nor angry over the man’s earlier lusty behavior. Then _and_ last night. He wanted to tell Yuuri and the Maou that he could not imagine his life without his King, now having known him, and that was why he did not wish to ever leave. Yet his mouth remained silent and instead he gave a firm and audible kiss to one the king’s pecs.

The Maou in turn paused for a few heart beats; surprised at Wolfram’s action, but soon returned the sentiment with equal tenderness. He leaned down and kissed Wolfram’s forehead. His chin resting on top of the prince’s head this way, shortly before they arrived. And if the servants found it odd when their King returned shirtless with the blonde prince on his lap, well, they knew better than to question it.

As the Maou escorted Wolfram to his room, his eyes swallowed their fill at Wolfram’s swaying hips and bottom as the blonde climbed the stairs in front of him. He fought the morbid desire to swat his hand upon Wolfram’s bottom, groaning inwardly at the inventive image of how it would feel to do so and how Wolfram would react. He quickly brushed aside his heated thoughts once they reached the prince’s bedroom door. Wolfram held out a hand and he took it in both of his, kissing it.

“Good night, sir.” Wolfram said, turning to face the door, but paused when the king still held his hands, not letting go.

 _What!_ The Maou exclaimed in his head. _You’d leave me like this? Without a sweet word or some other form of acknowledgement?_

The Maou cleared his throat nervously. “Do you need me to stay with you tonight?” he flustered. Though he already feared the answer.

Wolfram shook his head. “No, sir.”

“All right.”

The Maou kept his head bowed, his disappointment apparent as he stared at the floor waiting for the sound of Wolfram’s door to shut in his face. But it did not come. Instead he felt soft fingers rub behind his neck, the familiar habitual touch he had missed surprising him when he looked up to see Wolfram’s green eyes looking at him stoically.

“I love you, pet,” the Maou suddenly let out softly. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Wolfram blinked. “You healed me, so I suppose…it must be true.”

“It _is_ true. And I will prove it to you, between now and forever. Will you let me?”

Wolfram nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 _Even though I said this,_ Wolfram thought as the Maou embraced him. _Why do I feel guarded? I know I love him and yet I cannot help but be somewhat doubtful still…_

~*~

The rain that night came as torrent of water and winds and lightning strikes almost continuously. Wolfram was wide awake. How could he sleep with an empty stomach and his mind full? He had taken a bath before bed, letting the warm water drown away his regret at having refused dinner. His nerves of seeing Yuuri after what happened at the hill getting the best of him.

He tossed and turned on the bed. Memories of how it rained like this the night when he discovered his king in bed with…

Shaking his head, he turned and tossed again.

And rained like this at the cave…and raining tonight when his thoughts were filled of Yuuri and the Maou. Recalling their heated kisses, their embrace, their apology. How he allowed himself to behave in such a whorish manner. Humping himself like a beast in heat against Yuuri’s leg.

Wolfram flung the sheets aside, already feeling the heat in his groin remembering Yuuri’s hand, his touch. The feel of his release—

A sharp bolt hit near Wolfram’s window and he jumped violently on the bed. Heart pounding, cheeks feverish. He quickly rose from the bed and walked to the water pitcher on the small round center table in the middle of the room. He poured himself a glass, gulping the water hard. He set the glass down sharp against the table, breathing hard.

Damn it. He was cursed to not find peace tonight.

Going to Yuuri was out of the question. Even though he wished to, more than anything, he felt Yuuri’s counterpart would not understand. Perhaps the Maou would think he was ready to give himself, and Wolfram was not ready for that. Soon, perhaps. Just not yet.

Wolfram took a pillow in his arms and quickly made his way down the darkened stairs and around the corner to Murata’s room. He did not care how late it was or how awkward the whole situation might seem to the bespectacled man. But he did so anyway. He noticed Murata’s sleeping form as he entered the room. The light from the lightning briefly illuminating the Sage’s bare back and grey pants and his beautiful long hair sprawled upon the pillows.

“Sir, it’s me.”

Murata stirred at the sound of Wolfram’s soft but loud voice in the grand vastness of his room.

“Hm?” He slowly lifted himself on his arms, looking over his shoulder at the prince who gave him a look so miserable Murata sat up to look more clearly.

“Can I sleep beside you?” Wolfram looked down at the ground, feeling self-conscious suddenly, and ashamed of his childish request. Murata’s silence only making his nerves worsen.

Murata recalled Prince Gwendal mentioning this peculiar behavior from Wolfram. “ ** _He lessened that habit as he grew older. Now, he only does it again when something truly upsets him. He means no harm by it.”_**

Murata nodded absentmindedly at the memory, then patted the space beside him on the bed. Rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Sure. Come here,” he said, still half asleep. It had been a long day, what with managing the builders and interviewing the new staff. He was exhausted.

Wolfram sighed in relief. “Thank you!” The blonde was already crawling inside the warm sheets with the same enthusiasm of a child crawling on the bed between his parents.

As the prince settled himself Murata quietly reached over and slid on a loose white blouse he had left at the end of the bed, covering his bare chest. Then he yawned some more as he clumsy braided his long black hair into a loose braid so it would not tangle in the prince’s face. 

Wolfram drew close and waited until Murata laid back down and turned his back to him. He wrapped his arms tentatively around Murata’s back and waited a few nervous heartbeats for some form of rejection or a verbal rebuff. When there was none, Wolfram rested his cheek on the back of the man’s neck, as he recalled doing with his brothers.

Murata pulled the sheets over them, feeling the prince at last be still.

The grumble of thunder continued in the distance and the rain slowed to a heavy drizzle, tapping the room’s windows. The sound of it and of Murata’s breathing, the movement of the man’s chest on Wolfram arms all so soothing. Wolfram felt his eyes drape heavy with sleep at last, the storm outside not as troubling anymore.

~*~

Wolfram was not in his bed.

Yuuri looked around the darkened room, checking twice, convincing himself it was truly empty. The bedsheets were a tumbled mess and one of the pillows was missing. Where could he be? Yuuri instantly made his way to the only man he knew would know of Wolfram’s whereabouts.

Murata’s door was left gaping open just slightly when he reached it. He saw it was open due to the white light that flashed in between the crack, yet no sound of thunder came. And as he opened the door wider, his eyes quickly found Murata’s bed. The premonition in his heart already warning him of what he was sure he was about to see.

Yuuri drew near the bed, the heavy curtains had been pulled out and moonlight pooled two figures sleeping there. He heard the river of his own blood rushing past his ears when he saw the prince’s lying form upon Murata’s bed. Why had Wolfram come here of all places? Yuuri tried to reason. There were many other places. One being his room.

He had simply been too busy to give the matter much thought before and had stubbornly refused to suspect anything between them. Yet after what he was witnessing now, he could not ignore it any longer. The feathered kiss Murata gave Wolfram at the garden the night before, the hug, Wolfram’s smile. The prince’s lingering eyes on the man and now this…

He paused his breathing as Wolfram tightened his arms around Murata’s waist, pressing closer to the other’s body. The Sage did not wake at the movement, only made a light incoherent sound. Yuuri breathed again before remembered the Maou’s words.

**_He has betrayed us._ **

_Of course! How could I have been so blind?_ The way those two are so comfortable with each other. The reason Wolfram was only pacified when Murata was near. _I thought having Murata eat meals with us was a way to appease Wolfram’s anger, but now I see!_

Wolfram and Murata have been enjoying each other’s presence in his absence. Their friendship a meager illusion to hide what it truly was. A secret affair. They were probably laughing at how much of a fool he was for allowing them moments like this! Yuuri thought, bitterly.

Willing himself to stay quiet, Yuuri’s countenance changed to the Maou as he backed into the shadows until he found the Sage’s desk chair. He sat upon it and there he studied both figures with narrowed eyes. Time seemed to stretch interminably as he did, oblivious to the rising wind outside, the heaving rain that continued to pour. And there he stayed all night and only left as quietly as he came, just before dawn broke through the glass windows as the rain at last let up.

~*~

Wolfram worked on through the afternoon the next day, his energy knowing no end, being that he had slept so profoundly. And all thanks to Murata. There was no awkwardness between them when they woke that morning. Only a light morning greeting and a fare you later when Wolfram left Murata’s room before their day got started.

He could not believe it still—he tugged and tugged at his hair just to make sure. And yet there it was, thick and long as if it never had been cut or burned short. (It was longer than before, just a little past his shoulders, but he did not mind.) And the same was to be said about his scar. He had turned, his back facing the mirror, finding the place where the burnt skin had been. Only now there was no mark. No burn. Not anymore.

His spirit soared like the towering clouds outside, making the hours fly by in his euphoric state.

Just a little before leaving the bath house he remembered Yuuri’s black blouse from yesterday. He hurried to the towel room and removed the clothes he had hidden there. The sight of it making his chest feel a bit tight in remembrance of what the article held. He went into one of the small private baths that looked empty from afar and decided to wash it there. Then, just as he was sliding the bamboo doors shut, Murata’s voice resounded from behind him.

“What are those?” the Sage asked with curiosity. He smiled softly at the prince’s shocked expression as the blonde turned around, trying to compose himself in flustered awkwardness.

“Th-they are clothes…” Wolfram murmured before clearing his throat; his cheeks warm as he clutched Yuuri’s blouse close to him. Murata was inside the tub water, bathing. His expression care-free, not bothered in the least of being seen.

“If it’s soiled clothes the maids can take care of it.”

“No. I will do it. It’s…His Majesty’s.”

“Is it the same one you came in wearing yesterday after the outing?” Murata blinked before he said, “Was he kind to you?”

Wolfram’s eyes widened. If Murata thought he and king consummated their union, by the state they had returned in last night, he was gravely mistaken. “Nothing happened! At least not what you are thinking of.”

Murata gave him a toothy smile. “And what am I thinking of?”

“Enough. I did not know this bath was occupied. So, I’ll just—"

Murata took pity in Wolfram’s embarrassment. “I only meant to tease. You can wash them here, Bielefelt.”

“But you are—”

“Decent. While I bathe, I wear bathing shorts. This way I change quickly if anything should happen while I am in here.”

Relieved Wolfram rushed past him and sat on a small white stool. Unbeknownst to him Murata quietly watched the prince make quick work at washing Yuuri’s blouse. His eyes running down Wolfram’s long blonde hair.

“I would have thought you two would be closer than before. And yet, Shibuya seemed quite upset this morning.”

Wolfram paused a short moment, hanging the wet blouse at the corner wall before he answered. “I noticed.”

 _He did not show for breakfast or lunch today,_ he thought, _and I know not the reason why._

“I thought he’d be…happy.”

“I thought _you_ would be happy, as well.” Murata countered gently, before his eyes widened as Wolfram began to strip off his wet, work clothes, leaving only his shorts and a blue half top that covered his chest. “What are you doing?” 

Wolfram shrugged. “My clothes are wet already, so I’ll wash your back while they dry.”

The tub was deep, and Murata pulled his black hair to one side just as Wolfram stepped in the warm water. The prince sat on the tub’s ledge, only his knees submerged in the warm water. There was an awkward moment of silence, the gentle splashing the only sound between them.

“Your engagement to the King was made by me.” Murata began.

“I know.” Wolfram gently scrubbed the Sage’s back then rinsed off the lather cupping water in his palm.

“And yet, you are not angry at me or have shown any remorse. Not like Shibuya.”

“It’s different with him.”

“Tell me, Bielefelt, what did you wish for when you used the necklace?”

Wolfram sighed. “For power to save the bath house in exchange for…”

“For what?” Murata pressed, already dreading the answer.

“A spell…to spare me of the pain of his rejection. The sadness and hurt I felt when he told me he did not desire me and when I saw him with—” Wolfram closed his eyes and shook his head. “I was too sweet and too forgiving of all the things I let happen to me. I was a fool in love, and I didn’t like it!”

“And I’m sure you believed this hateful side of you would banish the feelings you have for Shibuya, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I liked him very much… _both_ sides of him.”

“You _still_ do.”

Wolfram opened his eyes, and Murata saw the sadness reflected in his green pools. “I’m just afraid to trust him again…”

“Bielefelt, Shibuya was able to heal you at last.” Murata turned in the tub to look at him. “Tell me you don’t know what that means.”

“I do, but still…”

“Since the start, Shibuya’s love and attention has only ever been for you. I’ve _seen_ it.”

At this, the blonde prince gave Murata a tiny smile and Murata smiled back.

Wolfram couldn’t help but feel a twinge of attraction for Murata just then, but only because the man reminded him of the Maou. With the same long, black hair and olive skin, and more so now without the glasses, although their facial structure was different. The attraction for the Sage was purely physical—or so Wolfram told himself.

Suddenly, both men startled when the Maou burst inside the bath unexpectedly. His rage radiating from his whole body at the sight of Wolfram and Murata in the bathtub water.

As hot mist cleared the room, the Maou’s eyes stared adamantly as Wolfram stepped out of the bath. Murata looked away politely as Wolfram straightened his black mini shorts and blue top, wet—the image of it strangely seductive to the Maou. It seemed only Wolfram von Bielefelt had the power to induce such heat from him.

Wolfram and Murata stared at the Maou, both silent and eyes wide as the king closed the bath door.

Wolfram cleared his throat softly, hating himself for feeling embarrassed—knowing well how the scene must look—the King’s fiancée in the water with another man! And not just any man—the King’s right hand! What would His Majesty think of him now? And why does it bloody matter so much?!

“That’s why you don’t wish to leave the bath house, isn’t it?” came the Maou’s thick voice through gritted teeth, breaking Wolfram’s thoughts. “Because of him!”

Wolfram gasped as the King’s hands gripped his shoulders suddenly, pushing him, careful not to slam his back too hard on the nearest bamboo wall. The action startling Murata, as he reached over to stop the Maou, but steadied himself again once he saw Yuuri was not going to harm the blonde Prince.

“You two meet up in here, don’t you? This way, you see him, touch him! _Bathe_ with him!”

Wolfram felt his cheeks redden but did not voice an excuse. Instead, he looked calmly at the Maou, admiring his strong jaw, the olive skin, the Maou’s breath on him, and those beautiful obsidian eyes…

Wolfram shuddered.

The king lowered his face so close Wolfram thought for a moment the man meant to kiss him. Until the Maou growled low and hoarsely, “Do you _please_ him in here?”

Wolfram gasped, shocked as Murata’s own face reddened at Yuuri’s bold accusation. Murata shook his head, vigorously. Wolfram would never—!

“Shibuya, no—” Murata cried, incredulously.

“Shut the hell up!” The Maou hissed, snapping his head in the Sage’s direction, eyes wild. The glare he gave him silenced Murata, and the Maou turned to face the blonde beauty again.

Wolfram cried out as the Maou forced Wolfram’s mouth open, gripping the moist tongue out of Wolfram’s lips with his thumb and forefinger. He expected to see the white evidence there, like the concubines after they had finished pleasing him. Only there was none. This fact did not relieve him of his anger though.

“You do, don’t you?” Wolfram tugged the King’s wrist, struggling in vain against Yuuri’s hard grip on his mouth. “You kiss him, rub on him—” the Maou spat in bitter jealousy, watching Wolfram’s green eyes widened more with each word. “Kneel before him—sucking him to oblivion!”

Yuuri’s face and neck turned to the side, left cheek reddened. Wolfram had punched him.

“Bielefelt!” Murata warned through gritted teeth, noting the prince’s chest heaving softly, his green eyes glazed a bit. Or was it the hot mist?

The Maou’s eyes opened to look at Wolfram, face hot red as well.

“That is something only _your women_ do,” accused Wolfram softly and quietly, just as two soldiers came rushing in over the commotion.

Wolfram didn’t struggle as one soldier quickly held his wrists behind him. But the sight of the other soldier gripping the blonde’s thin, naked waist to get him out the room gave jolt to the Maou’s temper once again. 

“Don’t touch him!” The king shoved only the bodies of the men away, and Wolfram took this moment to slither away and run off out of the room, his cleaning robes forgotten. His blue top still wet and his black shorts dripping water and clinging tight to his well-rounded bottom.

“Wolfram! Get back in here!” Yuuri shouted, his fist balled as the image of the half-naked Wolfram disappeared from his sight. “Damn it!”

The two soldiers flinched as the Maou marched toward them, pointing a threatening finger on their face. “If any of you touches him like that again, I’ll have all your heads!”

Murata turned his face away as Yuuri now looked at him. He straightened his own black bath shorts, swallowing hard, feeling his cheeks redden under Yuuri’s intense watchful eye. Yuuri’s jealousy, his anger burning on every part of his exposed skin. Murata’s mind reeled out of control as he processed how on god’s given earth was he to explain himself.

“I’ll deal with you later,” the Maou growled, pointing a finger at him. And with that, Yuuri stormed off. 

~*~

It kept raining for hours after that and it continued all throughout the rest of the day. The world brushed with liquid glaze on the windows, dripping from every corner of the land of Shin Makoku. Not a rainstorm with gushing winds and lightning, just a soft never-ending drizzle with distant rumble of thunder that was almost soothing to a troubled heart.

Wolfram closed himself in the seclusion of the tiled and elegantly furnished bathing room, sitting inside the warm tub, languidly washing himself, his thoughts drifting aimlessly from one course of event to another, causing restlessness and concern.

God everything was a mess again. He had run off and left Murata alone with Yuuri, something he regretted doing since he had not heard any news, nor heard anything from either men. With how angry the Maou was, who knew what he had done to poor Murata? What if he had sent Murata away without so much as a fare-you-well? Never to hear from his friend again.

**_“You were friends with Yuuri?”_ **

**_“Yes. A long time ago…”_ **

Yuuri and Murata’s friendship went astray somewhere in a twisted road. Their hostility toward each other now more apparent than before. These broken pieces of information left a tangle of questions in Wolfram’s head. Although unspoken, he knew something had happened between Yuuri and Murata. Something in the past kept secret and neither men wished to tell Wolfram about. But what was it?

Wolfram finished bathing and emerged from the tub, patting his arms and back dry with a towel. 

~*~

The door to Yuuri’s office chamber creaked loudly in the vast emptiness, announcing Murata’ presence. Looking inside the room, he saw Yuuri standing facing the grand fireplace, the heat lighting the room only a bit. Everything else left in shadow.

Murata had every chance to run away before all this, but he did not. Somehow, Yuuri also knew he was not going anywhere for he didn’t put guards on him or had Murata followed. The trust it took for Shibuya to do that, even when the scandalous scene between him and Wolfram happened…it only fed his guilty conscious more.

Murata cleared his throat, loudly, yet Yuuri still gave him his back, hands fisted at his sides.

“Nothing happene—”

With no warning, Yuuri lunged at Murata, grabbing him by his collar and shoving him hard to the ground. Murata’s glasses falling from his face, clinking away from them as Yuuri rolled on top of him.

“Don’t bullshit me! How long have you been taking him behind my back!”

“I would never—!"

The sting of Yuuri’s unexpected punch to his left cheek caused Murata to bite the inside of his lip. He swirled his tongue around the metal flavor of his blood, staring up at Yuuri’s fierce and angry face. And a glint of hurt in his brown eyes.

“You were my friend, damn you!”

“ _I am your friend,_ Shibuya!” Murata screamed, gripping Yuuri’s collar, equally hard and shoving him also. “You believe me to be the sort of man that would prowl and pounce on another’s fiancée?” Murata scoffed. “I did not believe you thought so lowly of me.”

“I didn’t. And yet, after all that I have _seen_ , I don’t think I know you at all.” Yuuri stood, giving Murata one last shove for good measure, both their chests heaving. “You two spend a lot of time together when I’m not around, don’t you? Perhaps _intimately_ —”

“That is not true—!”

“Is it not?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then how do you explain Wolfram sleeping in your bed?!”

“How did you—”

“I saw you two with my own eyes.” Murata backed up slowly as Yuuri languidly cornered him to the wall. And in this moment of jealousy, Yuuri seemed to tower over the Sage with such alpha maleness, one Murata had never seen in human Yuuri before. “You like him, Murata. You find him attractive.”

Murata drew his lips in a tight line, his eyes firm and steady, his expression calm and collected as they held the demon king’s now coal black eyes. The Maou trapped Murata on the wall, both the Maou’s hand on either side of Murata’s head.

“You want him just as much as I do, admit it!”

“Fine! I admit it! It was unexpected. One I never meant to let happen, but it did. Bielefelt was just as sad and lonely as you and I. He is more fragile than he pretends to be!” Murata shoved the King by the chest, then pointed an accusing finger at him, marching toward him as the Maou backed up. “I warned you he’d come to hate you if you didn’t change your attitude with him.”

“I did change—”

“Yes, only when it felt convenient for you." Murata turned to face the fireplace. “I’m happy for you Shibuya. You love Bielefelt enough to feel jealous of me—can’t you see what that means?” The Maou turned away at Murata’s sudden somber smile. “After all these years it means you are no longer smitten with me.”

“If you had let me, I could have loved you that much as well.”

“Shibuya, after I rejected you in our youth, you closed your heart. You became different. Distant. Even towards my continued friendship for you.” Murata neared Yuuri. “This guilt is what pushed me to arrange your union with Bielefelt. In the hope he would crumble your cold heart. When you thought you had no more love to give, I promised you would love again, and you did.”

“Yes. And now you wish to take that love from me.”

“No!”

“Don’t lie to me! How can you say all this when I see the way you look at him!?”

“Shibuya, I will let him go. As you let me go all those years—”

“I didn’t wish to let you go—you _forced_ me to!”

“It was for the best! It wouldn’t have been fair for either of us, and you know it! I did not desire you in any shape or form, but I care for you very much and I _still_ do. As I’ve always said then and now.” Murata sighed briefly before continuing. “All I wish is for you to be happy with the one you love, and that person is just down the end of the hall. And he loves you in the way you have so longed. Please, do not let your anger ruin our friendship a second time. _Go to him_ , Shibuya. _Claim_ him. Do it. Until you do, I won’t be able to fall in love with anyone else but him.”

The way the Maou’s eyes widened at Murata’s sudden confession made the other turn around and leave quickly, shutting the door with a loud echoing bang. 

~*~

Yuuri padded the length of the hallway, his bare feet making not a sound on the carpet. When he reached Wolfram’s door he pushed, and the door swung noiselessly open. His ears perked over the sound of water as thick mist snaked between the gap of the partially open door that led to Wolfram’s private bath. Tempted, he peeked, a bit surprised to find Wolfram nude and out of the tub.

Yuuri tried not to watch Wolfram but he could not stop himself. He was aroused just by seeing the blonde pull on his black underwear, his eyes fixated on how the tight the small black fabric caught just below Wolfram’s round mounds of his bottom. Wolfram wiggled and teased the fabric, arranging the lining more comfortably between the pale cheeks of his bottom before sitting on the vanity bench.

Yuuri continued watching, enchanted as if a spell, as Wolfram rubbed perfumed lotions on his feet and legs. He gulped, as his eyes followed Wolfram’s hands rub more lotion on his arms, then up his neck, loving how the prince arched his neck, making Yuuri want to kiss the skin there.

~*~

Wolfram carefully laid the bottled lotion on the dressing table as he felt a presence…watching him. He turned around to face the exit doors of the bath, expecting to see someone.

No one was there.

And there shouldn’t be— apart from the minimal staff that resided in the main castle, there was no one else on this floor besides him. Hmm.

Wolfram continued rubbing his neck, massaging the lotion into his skin, only now his eyes concentrated behind him. The uneasy feeling still there as he focused on the darkness between the slightly open doors.

Then, suddenly steeling himself, he got up and marched toward them. And before his courage could dwindle, he flung the doors open wide. His room was empty as he looked about. The bed was still made, the windows were closed and there was no one on the balcony—the moon perfectly illuminated its vast emptiness.

How strange.

Then, just as Wolfram was about to return to finish dressing, a sudden knock on his bedroom door forced a slight scream as he whirled around, a hand over his pumping heart.

“Bielefelt?” came Murata’s muffled voice from the other side in the hall. His knocking more insistent at hearing the prince’s cry. “Bielefelt?”

He sighed, relieved, then quickened his steps to reach the door, covering his nakedness with a blue robe before he opened them and lunged himself onto Murata as soon as he saw him. Murata’s eyes were wide and confused at this. His arms at his side, not making a move to touch the blonde prince.

Wolfram opened his eyes to see the Sage’s young apprentice, also equally as shocked staring at them, holding a tray with a cup of lemon tea and a small pitcher of cold milk, and a plate of small assorted cookies.

Murata cleared his throat and ordered the lad to leave once the tray had been put on a corner desk. Once gone Murata pulled Wolfram at arms’ length, holding him there as he asked, “Are you all right?”

Wolfram laughed softly at his childish fears as he let out his unease. “I thought I felt… _heard_ someone here in my room.”

Murata’s face hardened. “What?”

Wolfram hugged Murata again, shaking his head. “But it doesn’t matter now that you are here.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Murata replied, patting Wolfram’s back. “You sure that’s all it was?”

Wolfram nodded his eyes glossy as he finally looked up at him. Murata wiped a single tear that ran down Wolfram’s cheek with his thumb as the prince said, “I was worried for you…”

Murata smiled weakly. “I’m fine as you can see.”

Noticing Murata’s reddened cheek, Wolfram wordlessly reached up to touch it. And before he could give any word of concern Yuuri stood from the armchair next to Wolfram’s bedside, startling them both. For neither had seen Yuuri sitting there since the back of the armchair was facing the door.

“Leave.”

Murata bowed obediently, yet as he walked away Wolfram reached for him by the arm. His fear of being alone with the man went unspoken and he clutched the Sage’s arm tightly. Yuuri stiffened, his eyes burning intensely at Wolfram’s hold on Murata’s arm.

Murata kept his expression taciturn and his presence composed as always. The jealousy that burned in Yuuri’s eyes as the king glanced up at him remained. Then again, after all that has happened and now this, it was understandable Shibuya still felt hostile toward him.

“I said _leave_.” Yuuri repeated, more firmly and taking a warning step forward.

“It’ll be fine, Bielefelt,” Murata reassured. Wolfram surrendered, letting his hold slip away and watched as Murata closed the door as he left.

After stripping off his black formal jacket and slapping it across the armchair’s back, Yuuri headed toward the bar area and poured himself a glass of heavy liquor. He caught Wolfram by the waist as the blonde tried to walk past him to the bath.

“Where are you going?”

“I haven’t finished dressing.”

“Do it here.”

Yuuri kicked the armchair by the bed, turning it to face the Mazoku prince who stood in the middle of the room with his mouth agape. Was the king implying he dress in front of him?

Yuuri raised the glass to his lips, his face dark and intense. “Well?”

Bravely, Wolfram turned around letting his coverlet fall at his feet. Before, such an act done by Wolfram’s previous meek self would have been unthinkable. Now, strangely, it thrilled him knowing his king would watch him.

Yuuri stared hungrily at the display before him. Watched quietly as Wolfram slowly slipped a low-cut blouse of light blue satin that clung down to his generous plump bottom.

“I feared you had sent Murata away like you planned to do with me that time.” Wolfram began, pulling out his long blonde hair from the collar and fluffing it lazily.

Yuuri scoffed. It should have been obvious the reason for Wolfram to be up this late was because of Murata.

“Well as you saw, he was still alive and kicking, wasn’t he?” He gulped down more liquor, it was all he could do to not give in to temptation as Wolfram bent down to rummage through the bottom dresser for his night shorts.

Wolfram startled when the Maou threw the empty glass across the room, crashing in the corner. Then he pinned Wolfram with a heated stare, boldly looking at him from toe to head.

“Pretty gown,” he purred. “Did you buy that frock to show off for me or for _him_?”

Wolfram turned to face him, insulted. Pulling up the mini shorts that was pair to the sleepwear. “It was a gift from my mother! And you’ve no idea how worried I’ve been!”

“You were waiting for him, weren’t you? Here in this room. Fresh, clean and nude.” Gripping the armchair hard, Yuuri continued his interrogation. “How many times have you let him see you this way? What have you let him do?”

“Tell me, what happened between you two.”

“What’s _been_ happening between _you_ and him?” Yuuri demanded, watching for any slip up or nervous expression on Wolfram’s face. Yet, there was none, Wolfram braved him with equal intensity, never wavering his green eyes from Yuuri’s dark ones.

“Nothing! I let him keep me company, is all.”

“Where?”

“Where _you_ never wanted to be!” Yuuri swallowed hard as Wolfram continued. “Horse-back riding. Walks in the gardens. Dinner, a few times and—"

“And the occasional tumble between the sheets,” the Maou added, trough gritted teeth.

“Don’t be a fool!”

Wolfram tried to pass him by again, but the Maou stood in one lithe motion and hooked an arm around his waist, blocking him. Wolfram pushed at his chest to no avail.

“Think this little game of yours is amusing?” the demon king whispered by his ear, holding Wolfram captive. “That’s how duels get started, little prince.”

He felt Wolfram tremble. “I didn’t do anything wrong and neither did he—”

The Maou cut him off with a hard, claiming kiss. Wolfram pushed an elbow on his chest, and though their mouths parted with a popping sound, the Maou still refused to release Wolfram from his tight embrace.

“He likes you. He confirmed it, and you already knew he did, didn’t you?” Yuuri whispered. “But you are mine. You seem to need reminding.”

“It’s a bit late for silly male jealousy,” Wolfram retorted in a breathy whisper. “Now, let go of me!”

Yuuri shook his head with a narrow of his eyes. Such fight. Such spirit. He kissed Wolfram again, roughly and the soft groan when Yuuri’s tongue delved into the prince’s mouth, told Yuuri all he needed to know.

They both paused, took a breath, and simply looked at each other in silence for a moment. Wolfram reached behind Yuuri’s nape, twining the short curls there in between his fingers, before sliding his palms down to Yuuri’s chest. Rubbing the well-toned and hard muscles there, something he had always longed to do.

Yuuri closed his eyes, the feeling of Wolfram’s curious touches soothing, something Yuuri never let himself feel with another before. He even developed closing his lips in a tight line out of habit—never allowing himself to kiss the random women he slept with. Oh, but his prince was the exception.

“Are you angry because of how I treated you before, baby?” Yuuri breathed, as Wolfram traced his lips with a finger. “Is this my punishment from you?”

Wolfram bit his bottom lip, chewing it a bit before letting it go, red and swollen. Yuuri stared at it with awe wonder, trying to temper his wild need that only this blonde prince seemed light in him. Wolfram filled him with dark delight.

“How you must hate me...”

“If I’m truly honest with myself, no matter how awful you’ve treated me before, I cannot hate you, sir.”

At the confession, Wolfram pushed himself away from Yuuri’s embrace, striding to the window and stopping there. Wounding his arms round his waist, already missing his king’s touch. He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, remembering how his last confession to Yuuri went. The reminder making him more uneasy. More sensitive. More guarded.

Gently, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Wolfram’s chest. Wolfram turned his face away to the side just as Yuuri rested his own face close to the Mazoku’s nape. Breathing in the scent there, nuzzling the soft skin there, feeling the strong pounding of Wolfram’s heart beat. Though the blonde didn’t voice it, Yuuri knew exactly how his nearness affected the other.

“I used to want _not_ to get attached to anyone. I didn’t want to be bound by love or any relationship,” Yuuri at last confessed, tightening his embrace as he felt Wolfram tense at his every word. “I’d do it with them just to ease the void I felt I became, and I thought I could be satisfied with that. And for a long time, I thought that was enough.”

Yuuri sighed deeply, then loudly smooched a trail of kisses up Wolfram’s neck. Adding more; delighted when the blonde beauty didn’t resist, only arched his neck to allow his king more access to his throat. Yuuri continued.

“Yet, after meeting you, everyone else felt equally as void. And cold. The warm feeling only, you gave me—it was something unfamiliar to me. And that something became bigger every day spent with you.” Yuuri smiled, recalling the day he and Wolfram trained in swords and laughed together for the first time.

“I didn’t know what to do to free myself of that something, so all my irritation, my confusion and impatience, I pushed onto you. And I hurt you, my sweet.”

Wolfram turned in his arms, reaching for Yuuri’s face, his green eyes looking expectantly, intensely at his own brown ones. Yuuri braved the other’s gaze, his voice at last breaking and his emotions bursting forth. Yuuri recalled how Wolfram’s face looked when the prince discovered him in bed with that woman.

“I’m sorry, for all of it. I did it to distance myself from you. I was frightened of what my feelings for you might mean because I felt lonely when you were not near and all I thought about was you,” Yuuri said, desperately. “I was hopeful this ugly side of me would void out my feelings for you, but it seems my heart is more stubborn than I.”

He looked at Wolfram then, his eyes turning pitch black and his hair lengthening. Wolfram’s face remained taciturn, watching as the Maou appeared before him. His voice deep and growling through his white, clenched teeth.

“And then, seeing how you gazed after _him_ , how you followed _him_ everywhere. Him _kissing_ you whenever he pleased…my blood boiled. I hated myself for loving you too late, thinking I had already lost you when I saw you with him in the baths like that…and the need to monopolize you was born in me. Stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. I didn’t want anyone to touch you, and I still don’t because you’re _mine.”_

Wolfram smiled at the last word, a smile so sultry, so sexy, it brought human Yuuri back to the fore front.

With ease, Yuuri gripped each mound of Wolfram’s butt cheeks, then pulled down the tight fabric of the shorts and underwear down Wolfram’s legs, releasing the soft pale mounds.

Wolfram lifted one foot then another as Yuuri slipped them off completely, tossing the garments to the side. He remained on his knees and looked up at Wolfram briefly before kissing the warm belly, making the other gasp softly. His hands groping Wolfram’s butt cheeks. They overflowed in his hands, and both men groaned in delight of the touch.

Yuuri delved a finger deep between Wolfram, pressing hard over Wolfram’s intimate opening with the rough pad of his finger. Wolfram shivered, squeezing his legs at the sudden intimidate touch. He reached back, grabbing Yuuri’s wrist, not to stop him, but to keep himself balanced. No one has ever touched him like that before. The sensation overwhelming.

“Ah, my King,” Wolfram breathed, mouth open as his hands quivered on Yuuri’s face. Two fingers now rubbing and pressing deeper.

Hearing Wolfram call him “my King” again made Yuuri’s heart soar. Had his sweet Wolfram come back to him? Only time will tell. For now, he would make sure to keep Wolfram close and not let go.

Wolfram trembled slightly. Fear suddenly erupting in his chest. “Sir, I…I have never—"

The fingers stilled and Yuuri shushed him gently. “Shh. I know. I’ll take good care of you, baby. I promise.”

Wolfram flushed, embarrassed. “Hmm.”

“Come here,” he said, giving Wolfram’s bottom a quick pat.

Wanting to feel Yuuri’s skin as well, Wolfram tugged his king’s white shirt over his head, and then, bare-chested, Yuuri pulled the blonde down onto the carpeted floor. Wolfram spread his legs, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s back as the other knelt over him, covering him, feeling their erections rub together.

Yuuri groaned as Wolfram’s warm lips brushed his right ear and kissed his cheek. Wolfram kept pace with him as no woman ever had, with nervous patience but fierce recklessness and a hint of haste with carnal need. Wolfram was indeed created just for him.

“Since the moment I first saw you, I’ve wanted to see you clothed in nothing but your own hair.”

Wolfram sighed. “Have you really wanted me like that? Truly?” Yuuri kissed the skin on Wolfram’s wrist as the blonde reached up to stroke behind his neck. The familiar touch lulling him into a frenzy of lust. “You seemed so distant before. Even when you were so kind and clumsy.”

Yuuri chuckled at the last word. “You are just what I needed for so long. And you are _mine_.”

Wolfram nodded softly. Having come so far, he was determined to experience every moment of intimacy available to him now.

“Lie back for me, now.” Quivering like a lusty stallion, he nuzzled Wolfram’s fevered brow. “I wish to claim you.”

The blonde pulled back a small space, looking into his eyes, knowing the time has come. Tentatively running his hands over Yuuri’s chest before he let himself lie back and watch quietly as Yuuri reached over by the candle stand on the round side table.

“What’s that for?” he whispered as Yuuri fitted a thin, filmy sheath of some sort over his towering erection.

“Making sure we’re both protected,” he said softly.

“Oh,” Wolfram murmured, though he did not understand. The oddity of the object very strange to him, but the feeling came and went away once Yuuri rubbed his hands up and down Wolfram’s firm ass cheeks then spread them. Yuuri’s mouth watered at the sight before him.

“That’s nice, baby.”

The perfect rose-colored pucker called out to him and he just had to taste it. The Maou lowered his nose underneath Wolfram’s balls and inhaled deeply.

“Oh! My King!” Wolfram nails scraped the rug as Yuuri gave a long swipe up the crack of Wolfram’s bottom. His king continued to swipe a few more times before stopping and chuckling softly when Wolfram started to babble incoherently. He loved how responsive Wolfram was, and he loved even more when Wolfram called him “my king.” Before this night was through Wolfram was going to be _screaming_ it.

He coated his fingers with oil and teased Wolfram’s ring of muscle, positioning himself between his pale, well-shaped legs once Wolfram was well opened.

“Ready, baby?” he asked. Wolfram held his breath as Yuuri’s tip rested lightly on Wolfram’s pleasure entrance, pressing, and then entering inch by throbbing inch. So achingly slow and pausing.

“Is that gentle enough?” Yuuri moaned, though he barely was halfway there. The tightness was incredible. Wolfram’s only answer was a soft, mewl as he ran his hands down Yuuri’s sides, enthralled by each flowing ridge of powerful male muscle. The blonde beauty gasped at a small burst of pain that came from within as they were fully joined. 

“W-wait,” Wolfram gasped with a hard swallow. Yuuri stilled, Wolfram’s palm just over Yuuri’s flat toned belly, pressing firmly. “Big, big—”

Wolfram inhaled sharply, his world spinning. Then, after he relaxed again, he placed the soles of each feet on Yuuri’s pectorals. Legs spreading and Wolfram’s hips rising as Yuuri placed a small pillow to Wolfram’s backside.

Yuuri caressed Wolfram’s feet with the pad of his fingers, then gripped both ankles between his hands. “Are you all right?”

Wolfram gave his King a brief nod to continue, adding a “go slow”, as Yuuri’s cock pulled out only to breach deeper into his sphincter again in one motion.

He started with deep, full and slow strokes--tender and thoughtful at first, then as he began to hear Wolfram’s mewls of pleasure, he unleashed his male power. Tanned hips rode urgently between Wolfram’s legs, every tight inch of him blissful. Staring at the blonde below him, body rocking. He possessed Wolfram completely in that moment, claiming him. He groaned, pressing his mouth on one side of Wolfram’s feet as Wolfram raked his nails in the back of his hips, grasping his tight, firm buttocks.

“Ah! You’re driving me wild!” Wolfram mewled, arching his back, his head rolling wildly form side to side in time with Yuuri’s thrusts.

“Good?” Yuuri panted.

“Yes!”

He thrust into him like the end of the world was upon them, again and again, feeling his violent climax approaching as he delved in the exquisite shudders that raked Wolfram’s body. The blonde beauty gave a shaking scream as he came, a thick torrent of white liquid spurting out and splashing on his belly. The sensation of his first orgasm made him cover his red face with his hands.

“Oh, by heavens!” he sighed heavily, his body convulsing. Yuuri stared intently at Wolfram’s trembling legs, Yuuri’s mouth hanging open as he witnessed more cum shoot out of the virgin prince. The thrill of his first orgasm causing the prince to pool tears on his cheeks, eyes rolling back as well as his neck. His breathing calmed as Yuuri pulled out, Wolfram’s feet flopping down on each side of his hips with a thud.

Wolfram stared silently at him, chest heaving softly, one of his hands slithering down to lazily graze his soft pink flaccid cock. Yuuri gloried over the fulfilling smile and sparkle in those big, twin jades as Wolfram stared at Yuuri’s hard cock.

“We’re not finished yet.”

Grabbing Wolfram’s ankles, Yuuri placed them over his shoulders, positioning himself against Wolfram’s entrance again. Without giving the prince a warning, he thrust in deep and slow in one swift motion that made Wolfram gasp. Yuuri’s eyes widen for a brief instant, thinking he had hurt his prince. But by the look of that sultry smile, Yuuri knew it was Wolfram’s way of announcing his pleasure, not his pain.

Yuuri rolled his hips forward, forming a sensual rhythm, letting Wolfram feel every inch of him. Slow at first, lavishing every moan and mewl and every silent mouth-open gasp from his prince. Then, feeling Wolfram’s tightness on his cock, Yuuri took his pleasure, pounding hard. His hips pistoning like a battering ram, the slapping of their skin making obscene sounds. But none as obscene as Wolfram’s sex-blissed expressions-his body, eyes, mouth, and everything losing all sense of decency.

Wolfram’s arms flayed at his sides, squeals hiccupping out of him with every crude thrust as Yuuri rode his dick deeper, stretching Wolfram’s hole.

“No, don’t do that,” Yuuri huffed, pulling the blonde’s hands gently away from his face. Wolfram had covered his face in attempt to hide the tears of pleasure that flowed down his cheeks. As well as the contorted facial expressions his sex-induced state was producing. “Show me all of it—every single part of you.”

The tightness of Wolfram’s virgin body was too much. Yuuri groaned long and hard, closing his eyes tight, feeling his peak come closer and closer. He reached down and griped Wolfram’s hard organ, squeezing it. No sooner he did, Wolfram exotic scream rose out of him just as quickly as another torrent of white essence splashed out his slit.

“Ahh--fuck!!” Yuuri yelled, the feel of Wolfram tightening around his cock bringing him to blissful completion. Giving one final hard thrust for good measure, Yuuri came inside the condom, opening his eyes and huffing radically.

He stared at the blonde beauty sprawled on his carpeted floor. Golden hair spread out, legs open wide, freshly claimed. Wolfram looked and was the definition of beauty, lewdness, and exotic. As he pulled out, he watched Wolfram’s hole, now a fiery red hue, twitch—opening and closing like the mouth of a fish. The sight made him more drunk than any fancy wine or champagne. Yuuri continued his intent gaze, lost and drowning in the deep green emeralds of the prince’s sweet eyes.

He bent down, taking turn kissing Wolfram’s ear and cheek, whispering to him. “You’re so different, Wolfram. So beautiful. So soft.” He took the condom from himself, then quickly put another. Yuuri lifted his head to stare at Wolfram’s nakedness again.

“Do me again,” Wolfram breathed, staring as Yuuri rubbed himself while looking at him. “I want it again—all of it…”

Yuuri nodded with a wicked corner smile, taking Wolfram’s hand and placing a deep kiss on it. Wolfram lifted himself from the floor, Yuuri standing with him only to sit on the nearest sofa. Seeing the blonde hesitate—his eyes questioning on how he should position himself, Yuuri knew to verbally take lead.

“Turn around, Wolf. Yes, just like that.”

Yuuri closed both his hands round the boy’s waist as Wolfram turned his back to him, spreading his legs wide above Yuuri’s lap. Wolfram looked back at Yuuri over his shoulder, his eyes questioning again, but not voicing it. Yuuri gave brief instruction and Wolfram bent his legs while Yuuri guided the organ inside Wolfram’s heat. Wolfram sat heavily upon it, groaning as his body fell back, head resting on Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri’s head finding a place on Wolfram’s neck.

The new position forcing Wolfram to feel every inch of thick girth and length of his King. The fullness, the feeling of being “plugged” in so suddenly, so overwhelming, Wolfram mewled.

The sound so erotic it made Yuuri almost lose his seed then and there. Yuuri wasted no time as he began to pound himself in him, Wolfram gasping and squealing heavily, his bottom bouncing to the rhythm of his king’s thrust. The long stiff prick of his king rubbing and stroking his hot insides. The act became so intense Wolfram gripped the sofa’s armrests for leverage as the pounding became more erratic.

He screamed as his pink slit spurted white essence yet remaining stubbornly hard. “Ahh! Don’t stop! Don’t stop,” Wolfram demanded through gritted teeth and wet tears.

Wolfram placed a hand over Yuuri’s that gripped his stiff dick, milking Wolfram, Yuuri’s hips continuing their rampage; the continuous slap of skin causing the round swells of his bottom to turn a fiery red. The blonde lifted his hips only to pound himself down to meet his King’s battering thrusts, earning a moan from both men as the sensation, the heat was too overwhelming. Yuuri grunted and heaved like an animal in heat and Wolfram’s princely verbal language became crude and desperate. And louder.

“Ah, by stars! Give it to me! Plow it deep--deeper until I lose all reason!”

The blonde screamed so continuously Yuuri’s ears began to buzz, so much it almost hurt. He clamped a hand over the beauty’s mouth, the sound of his voice lessening, but neither rendered their rampage of thrusts.

“Baby, _calm_ yourself—”

“No! No, no, no,” Wolfram muffled repeatedly in the heat of his passion, shaking his head as new tears flowed down his cheeks at how tightly he pressed his eyes closed. As both their peaks came, Yuuri removed his hand and Wolfram screamed one last time. His back flopped heavily on Yuuri’s chest, both heaving hard in the aftermath. Wolfram took both his King’s hands, guiding them lazily up and down his chest, belly and soft flaccid member, letting Yuuri feel every tremble of his body as he continued to orgasm.

Yuuri complied and continued stroking Wolfram, gentling him down from being penetrated by a lover for the first time.

Wolfram reached over, placing a hand on Yuuri’s neck, looking up at him with glazed green eyes.

“Kiss me.” Wolfram panted, stroking his cheek. “Kiss me like that night…”

“Only for you, my pet,” Yuuri said at last. “Only for you.”

~*~

Yuuri watched in a daze as Wolfram gulped down a second glass of wine. Both in bed in crumpled mess of sheets with a few pillows scattered on the floor. It was dark outside, the moon high above the sky, but there was still time for a short break until their second round of…fun.

Yuuri had ordered a quick meal of wine snacks sent up with the discretion of leaving the tray by the door. Once the servant had left, Yuuri opened the chamber door (careful of any watchful or curious eye on his beloved) and carried the tray in.

A generous number of cubed cheeses, sweet, fat green grapes, a slab of cold ham with cherry tomatoes dipped in olive oil and a loaf of bread browned with butter—all presentable in a huge wooden board. The prince’s hunger was evident by the way he bunched random food in his mouth.

“More wine?” Yuuri asked with a smile, swishing the last of the liquid as he held the bottle in the air. Wolfram nodded eagerly, his cheeks full and swollen, chewing impatiently as his hands were already gathering more food from the tray.

Yuuri chuckled softly, pouring the liquid in the glass. He tossed the empty bottle across the room, neither caring as it shattered. Yuuri rose from his belly, crawling toward his prey, already feeling the heat burn his organ back to life. Turning the blonde’s waist toward him, he kissed the soft belly and looked up at Wolfram briefly, even as the prince continued to eat.

“Almost done?” Wolfram shook his head, staring down as human Yuuri transformed into his demon counterpart. Those obsidian eyes glinted with hues of lust. The voice now deep and very male. “Because now it’s my turn for a taste…”

The Maou took the prince in his mouth, just barely sucking the soft flaccid organ when Wolfram pushed him softly by the shoulder.

“In a bit, I’m still hungry,” the boy whined.

The Maou tightened his lips and deepened his suction as Wolfram’s length came out between his lips, still soft. He briefly recalled how Wolfram shuddered under orgasm, inflamed by their passionate love making. He felt it only as a prickling haze through his human’s memory at that time. Now, he wanted to feel it for himself. All of it— touch Wolfram’s every part, taste every kiss, feel every tremble and hear every scream. Wolfram was as much his, too.

With a sigh he pulled away, resting his back on the bed’s headboard, one leg stretched out and one arm resting above a bent knee. Though he didn’t verbally announce it, Wolfram saw it in face. His king was clearly pissed.

Smiling, Wolfram plucked one single grape, crawled toward the Maou, hovering over him. The demon king watched intently as Wolfram tapped the fruit on his lips, which the Maou refused to eat with a snap of his head. Wolfram squeezed until the juice of it flowed in all his fingers. The Maou flinched as his pet reached down stroking the sweet liquid all and around the head of his cock, then bend his head to lightly lap the sweet juice of the grape from the base to the head. Sucking the head timidly and briefly until all the sweetness was gone.

Wolfram looked up at his king, licking the taste off his lips. “I’m not very good—”

The Maou growled softly, pulling Wolfram’s face from his lap by the nape, the man looking at the blonde with such lusty gaze Wolfram gasped, blushing.

“Yes, no one will ever amount to the perfection that you are.”

Taking advantage of Wolfram’s slightly parted mouth, the Maou claimed a kiss. The feel of their tongues mating, the wetness of it, the sounds so sinful--they parted with a light smack.

“Want to it put it on me?”

Wolfram looked quizzically at him before his eyes lit up, recognizing the white sheath that was handed to him. A small round thing that he observed from earlier stretched to fit his King’s length. Wolfram took it, placing it above the bulbous tip.

“The other way, pet.” The Maou corrected, turning Wolfram’s hand that still held the gleaming item, showing Wolfram how to properly place it.

“Oh.”

The Maou reached up, kissing Wolfram’s pout, smiling at Wolfram’s innocent mistake, making the other blush. Knowing he was the first man Wolfram would be trying anything with first aroused him to no end.

Hovering his legs over the Maou’s hips, Wolfram gripped the headboard with both hands, looking down just as a sultry smile spread on his King’s lips as a hot stiff rod pressed inside his hole.

He was still tender there; still tight and dry. The pressure earning soft mewls from the blonde as the length entered him, slowly at first. Then, Wolfram gave a surprised gasp when the Maou thrust his hips up in one swift, greedy motion.

“Ah-ow…” Wolfram groaned, bowing his head, his golden locks dangling just over the Maou’s face. The bed creaked as both men slowly adjusted their positions better—Wolfram groaning and bending low until his bottom felt the soft wisps of the Maou’s pubic hair, his king lowering both his knees down so Wolfram could easily ride his cock.

The pulse of their sexual bliss reeling them both quickly to insanity yet again. Wolfram’s rapid bounces and pausing between continuous yells of “ah!”, inflamed the Maou’s passion beyond mastery level. The blonde gave himself willingly body and soul to match his own lewd level of carnage pleasure. He admitted to himself then, that Wolfram von Bielefelt had indeed ruined him for all others. But, then, he didn’t need others anymore; Wolfram was his Queen. His alone. Between now and forever.

He leaned up, kissing Wolfram’s neck with his tongue, nibbling his warm ears as Wolfram breath, hot and heavy, perspired and gathered there on his left cheek. Both hands resting on Wolfram’s moving hips, he even took advantage of his pet’s raised arms to swipe with his tongue at the prince’s armpits. And act done by impulse, raunchy in nature, but it was his pet…nothing was repulsive of the body of his pet.

“Oh! Oh! H-have mercy, my K-king—a-ahh…!” Wolfram groaned, his voice shaking, even though the man below him sat perfectly still, letting the blonde prince ride his own pleasure on his prick. Raising his hips, rolling them, slapping them down, seeking deeper, faster thrusts; Wolfram was sure his nails were forever engraved on the headboard by how hard he gripped the wood in his erratic sexual tryst.

With a last deep thrust, both men gave themselves to their bodies screaming, groaning and panting like animals in heat. The Maou bit a corner of his smiling lips, his fingers kneading all around the blonde’s trembling ass cheeks as the prince spurted his liquid orgasm on his flat toned olive-skinned belly.

“Yes, baby—shudder for me,” he hissed as Wolfram’s legs took their turn to tremble erratically. The Maou watched as Wolfram’s toes curled, his hands slithering down Wolfram’s shaking legs, loving every feel, every drawling moan; a sense of pride knowing only he could spur such behavior, such orgasm from his sweet, innocent, virgin pet.

Breathing returning to normal, green eyes glazed, and pale face wet with tears, Wolfram giggled. He pushed his king’s chin up with a finger, gripping it softly and said, “Can I ride you again?”

“Never ask, my sweet, just _take_ it,” the Maou told him. “My body is yours to do with as you please.”

“For how long?” Wolfram asked, playfully.

“Between now and forever.”

Wolfram lifted off him and out of the bed, taking his King’s hand. The Maou happily obliged, letting Wolfram lead him to the nearest window as he slipped the condom out and tossed is away. With a slight shove, the Maou’s back hit the wall and Wolfram turned facing the opposite wall, placing his hands on it. Wolfram arched his back, pushing his bottom out, the Maou groaning at the sight, his hands reaching to fondle and grope the lush mounds before him.

Looking over his shoulder, Wolfram said, “Open my ass.”

The Maou did as ordered, spreading Wolfram’s butt cheeks, blushing at his Queen’s crude words. Coming from the sweet prince he came to know, when Wolfram began to use profane language in sex, it flustered him. Even made him blush. Mayhap it was likely his fault for Wolfram’s lewd behavior. Yet, he found he also liked Wolfram giving him orders.

Feeling the bare bulbous head of his King press gently against his entrance gave Wolfram pause. He turned his head and pulled his bottom away as he said, “Wait! What about that little thing? Aren’t you going to—”

The Maou growled softly, tugging Wolfram’s bottom back in position against his hip. “Damn that little thing! I’m breeding you tonight, as I should’ve done since the beginning.”

Wolfram did not argue, for he wished it too. He took his King in hand, guiding the hard rod back to his entrance, impatient and longing to feel his King’s seed deep within him.

Once feeling the Maou’s well-endowed girth breech him, Wolfram began to pound himself on the stiff rod of his King—hard, hot, and persistent—using the stone wall as leverage, heightening his pace with every thrust.

“It feels good, it feels good,” Wolfram chanted. The feel of Yuuri’s bare cock rubbing his insides, driving him to the edge of insanity. His mouth hanging open, gasping as he arched his neck. His movements did not cease when he turned to look at his king, demanding and screaming his wave pleasure.

“Don’t be gentle damn you! Give it to me hard!” he cried through gritted white teeth. “I want to _ache_ tomorrow—now, do it!”

Taking control in his lust filled haze and euphoria, Wolfram’s cheek hit the wall in front of him as the Maou obliged to his request. Pounding into his queen mercilessly, so fast and hard it began to hurt. Wolfram’s mind went blank. 

It was raw and carnal. Heat and pain.

Wolfram heard himself wailing endlessly and when his orgasm hit, he felt his body convulse again, then, as tears blinded his eyes and wetted his cheeks, darkness overtook him.

~*~

Wolfram woke, grateful he had not missed the dawn, for he had slept so soundly. The sky was still a hue of ebony with hints of faraway blues. And the gentle pitter patter against the window soothing as the last wash of rain came to an end. Yet, now that he was awake, Wolfram was instantly aware of his aching muscles. He moved his head and looked up at his Yuuri.

His king had only just fallen sleep an hour ago, the dark circles of his eyes proving this fact. Wolfram noted the bowl of water and vaguely recalled being given a warm sponge bath and moving around as Yuuri changed the bed sheets while Wolfram drifted in and out of sleep. Within a heartbeat Wolfram fought the urge to arouse his devilish, enticing, handsome lover to make love once more. Having now known the sin of sex, Wolfram felt a bit shy at how his enthusiasm and adrenaline of their sexual escapades exhausted his human mate.

Hm. He’d let him sleep a few more minutes…

Wolfram lay his head back down, only now on the hard-chiseled pecs of his fiancée, instead of the pillow. The warmth so pleasing, the hard muscle of male so arousing against his cheek. Wolfram gave Yuuri’s chest a few light pecks just around the brown nipple. The man startled, his eyes still closed, inhaling briefly at Wolfram’s kisses, one of his arms winding possessively on the prince’s waist, then as exhaustion took over again, he relaxed. Wolfram smiled, enjoying the feel as his King’s big hand drawled lazily down to rest on one of his butt cheeks; patting it absentmindedly as sleep overtook his human husband-to-be once again.

Memories of their night bore down on Wolfram’s aching backside, serving as penance for reveling in their carnal pleasures. Yet the act proved so delightful, so addicting, Wolfram at last understood why scullery maids at pubs or concubines sought out whatever hard rod they could find.

And now that Yuuri was his, body and soul, Wolfram would pursue his lust his craving for more, for he knew he would not be denied. No more.

Wolfram sighed deeply, wickedly, giggling inwardly as he traced a firm palm, down flat toned belly, past the soft wisps of black hair and kneading Yuuri’s thick morning wood.

Pitch-obsidian eyes opened, fully awake.

**Author’s Note:** _I hope no one was bothered by this long chapter. Personally, I felt that if I had split it into two chapters it would have ruined “the flow” of things. And I hope I did not traumatize anyone with the detailed description of sex. (I believe the explicit scenes are what everyone looks forward to in Yaoi)_

_Thank you again, for your continued patience and support. I am doing my best to squeeze writing time within any spare moment I can get between life, food, and work._

_The next chapter will be due in my next and final installment for this story._


	7. Chapter Six: Message from the Author

Dear Readers,

I apologize for not answering current comments on my works, but know I have been reading them. I know it's been long since I've updated my next chapter and the reason being is because I have been battling COVID since October 3th to this day. It has been a rough battle and very stressful for my family and my poor mother who has been looking after me at home. My siblings also caught COVID days prior to mine, as well.

COVID has attacked my appetite badly, and I have lost over 20 pounds in the first week and 8 more pounds in the second week. I am gradually getting better now, along with my siblings, and my strength has returned enough for me to write this message. Please look after yourselves as this virus is not to be underestimated. I know it's a hassle wearing mask and gloves but please think of others and if you have children think of them, especially. I can't imagine a child going through this, especially when the virus prevents you from breathing and leaves you physically weak.

I want to assure my readers that I do plan on finishing this story, as I promised. The last chapter was written before my illness and was almost finished--I just need to fill in lots of gaps and check my grammar and whatnots. I do not want to rush this as I want the ending to have a full and satisfied closure before I publish it. Though it will have to wait until I am fully recovered and I do not know when that will be. Thank you all for your patience so far and for following my fanfic. Please stay safe everyone. I hope to see you all again when I can. Good bye for now.


	8. Chapter six: The Last Chapter

** Chapter Six: The Last Chapter **

Samples of the invitations to the royal couple’s wedding were delivered to the castle, but Murata set them aside. To his knowledge, Shibuya hadn’t set a date for the wedding yet, but Murata gathered it wouldn’t be long until he did.

For the past months, the Maou and Wolfram had spent their days and nights in honey-moon-like bliss. Going for long walks under the starry skies, and on cloudless afternoons the couple would ride their horses to the hills that overlooked the towns and picnicked there. And Murata noticed, for the first time in many years, Shibuya was genuinely happy. And he himself, as well. And so was Bielefelt. He could see it in the prince’s beautiful green eyes…

“Your Eminence?”

His apprentice walked to his side and Murata cleared his throat and his thoughts. “What is it?”

“More presents from Prince Wolfram’s mother have arrived.” 

Yes, as autumn swept over Shin Makoku, crisp and cool, crates and trunks began arriving from Bielefelt land soon after Wolfram’s sudden pregnancy was announced to his family. Murata gave the other servants instruction for the items to be put in Shibuya’s room and he smiled knowing how pleased Wolfram would be at the surprise.

The boy bowed to him again before adding, “Lunch is ready for his Majesties, as well, sir.”

His apprentice looked knowingly at him, nervous. When the boy delivered the breakfast on the couple’s first morning together, the sight that greeted him forced a brief flinch of shoulders. The King was a horrid mess. Hair tousled, nips and hickeys decorating his neck and belly, dark circles under his eyes. Through it all, Yuuri smiled, clearly exhausted and in need of more sleep. And when the King turned the lad saw the man’s back filled with what looked like nail marks. The poor lad was shocked speechless, his feet planted by the door, not braving to step inside. To Murata’s amusement and the relief of his apprentice, Murata made it his duty to be there when the boy delivered meals or messages to the royal couple from then on.

“Ready?”

The boy nodded. Murata stood and went with him toward the path in the ballroom where he was told the couple was.

~*~

Yuuri sighed inwardly from the open doors of the ballroom, watching Wolfram wander about the room a few feet away. The tall windows that reached the ceiling and the sun made a glittering world of golden light surround the room. The floor was a spacious marble and as always Wolfram was tempted by the sight.

“It’s so beautiful,” he heard Wolfram’s voice echo in the grand vastness.

The ballroom inside his castle was for his own private use; the luxury and its grandness made Yuuri painfully conscious of his loneliness before—the main reason he rarely used it and had not allowed anyone in there with exceptions of the new year. Now, with Wolfram there, the room felt completely different. For there was something about Wolfram that made everything better.

Wolfram turned in a slow circle, then gradually moved faster, earning a smile from Yuuri as he watched the blonde twirl to a tune only the prince seemed to hear. Reminding Yuuri of the night Wolfram twirled about this way in his nightie the first time he entered Wolfram’s private chambers. Yuuri’s white-hot stare traveled over the blonde’s body, watched those arms spread about—the prince’s golden hair glittering in the sunlight. Those long blonde curls that he liked to see sprawled over his bed sheets. And those smooth strong legs he loved to spread when he—

Wolfram’s green eyes suddenly met his own gaze and his breath caught. _God, his eyes are beautiful._

In their first night together, Wolfram had surprised him, indeed, for Wolfram was a virgin. And the Maou had never taken a virgin before. He had heard it was impossible to bring a virgin to full completion the first time. And he had taken Wolfram, slow at first, but then thoroughly vigorous. And his pride as a man swelled knowing he had sated Wolfram completely. As he did so each night. As no other man ever will.

Across the room, Wolfram realized he was being watched, but did not mind. He had no urgency to shrink from the King, not like before. He enjoyed times like these when they were alone. And Wolfram had allowed himself to laugh and be carefree again. And he loved having Yuuri’s eyes solely on him. It made Wolfram feel attractive and wanted. Desirable. He stopped twirling and walked toward his human fiancée, locking eyes with him, pulse racing, hands stretched in front of him until Yuuri took his own hands in his. The blonde quickly pulled Yuuri to the dance floor as their lips met.

Yuuri smiled through their kiss whispering, “Someone’s coming between us, babe...”

Wolfram looked down at his soft and small swollen belly pressing on Yuuri’s flat toned one, smiling gently. It was to be expected after all that sex. Of course, it was. There were too many signs to pretend otherwise. The fatigue, the soreness, the sickness that came and went, all confirmed suspicions long ago. He admitted he was fearful when he first learned of his pregnancy. And even plucked his courage to ask Yuuri one night as they lingered in bed in the aftermath of their daily lovemaking:

_“Do you want children, sir?” he had asked cautiously._

_“Of course, I do.” Yuuri lifted Wolfram’s chin to look into his eyes, the prince’s cheeks slightly flushed. “Daughters to look like you and sons to look like…you.”_

Wolfram laughed lightly, burying his face in Yuuri’s warm neck. Sometimes he was not sure himself whether to believe Yuuri. Oh, but he wanted to believe him. Oh, god, he did. He settled with the thought that perhaps Yuuri did mean what he said.

Wolfram’s arms circled about his waist as Yuuri led them into a gentle sway, dancing to an unheard beat in the middle of the ballroom. Wolfram began humming to a tune he was not familiar with. The sound of it calming and it eased his nerves to a question he had been longing to ask.

“Wolf,” he started. “Tell me of yourself?”

Wolfram half-laughed. “I told you long ago—at the gardens while having breakfast the first time, remember?”

Yuuri twirled Wolfram in his arms, embracing him from behind now, wrapped his arms over the blonde’s waist. “Tell me more then.”

Wolfram remained stubbornly quiet but continued swaying his hips lightly. He did not like Wolfram’s silence, and he would not pretend to not know the reason for it.

“You are so precious to me,” the Maou whispered gently, his lips brushing the blonde’s neck as he spoke. “You know that don’t you?”

“Hmm.” Wolfram arched his neck, just as the Maou pressed his nose in the space between shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply.

“I love you, Wolfram.”

“Same,” the prince murmured.

The Maou paused. “Do you mean that?”

He felt Wolfram nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Can you say it? I wish to hear it.”

“…one day.”

 _Well damn_. At least Wolfram was telling the truth and being painfully honest. Although let down, it hurt him to know that, even now, after all they had shared and even made a child together, Wolfram could not let his guard down with him. Or would not. And like always, guilt settled in the Maou’s heart because he realized it was his doing. And for this reason, he decided he would not press or rush his pet. Now, it was his turn to be patient. And he will give it.

“Then I will wait until you do.”

“You will wait?” It was laughable, but curious, too. “How long?”

“Between now and forever.”

“You _always_ say that—Ah! Stop it,” Wolfram giggled, as Yuuri’s fingers tickled his sides.

Stopping, Yuuri settled his chin in the space between Wolfram’s neck and shoulder while soothing his palms over the swell of the blonde’s belly. He recalled brushing away a single stubborn tear that fell on Wolfram’s cheek the night he had confirmed his happiness at Wolfram’s pregnancy. At first, the thought bringing a child into the world would scream to his bachelor front, but oddly enough it did not seem half bad. He had to admit it was an appealing thought—children with Wolfram.

The Maou had not realized the depth of his aloneness until Wolfram. It surprised him that loving the prince gave him a sense of calm serenity he had forgotten. As though a piece of him that had long withered away and grown dormant, that he thought dead, began to come forth again, like a faint ember. Now he knew he would forever cherish Wolfram. And today he would prove it.

“I need to ask you something.”

Wolfram’s eyes followed as the other pulled out a small item from the pocket of his jacket. And when the man offered a ring in both hands, Wolfram looked at him more quizzically than before.

The Maou might have run from love thousands of times before, but this time—for Wolfram—he would hold his ground. Licking his lips nervously he said, “Marry me, my pet?”

Wolfram took the beautiful ring; round eyed as he stared at the small thing bearing the Maou’s royal crest. “You’re going to have to now.” Wolfram confirmed, shimmying his belly softly. “What is this for?”

Yuuri carefully took the prince’s left hand and placed the gold ring in Wolfram’s ring finger as he explained.

“In another world, this is a symbol of how much I desire for me to be the one at your side for all of your life. If you’ll accept me as your husband.” Wolfram could not speak, his green eyes shimmering pools of emotion as Yuuri continued. “And like this child we made together, I will cherish you and be true to you always. Wolfram von Bielefelt, will you be my Queen?”

“Oh, sir,” Wolfram forced out in sheer wonder, finding his voice at last. “A-Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” Yuuri said, glowing determination in his eyes. “For the first time in my life, I know this is right—what we have. This happiness I have found with you. It’s real, Wolf.”

 _Can this be happening?_ Wolfram felt a bit dizzy. He bit his lip, his heart fluttering at all the things his King had said.

“So, will you marry me?”

Wolfram nodded. “Yes, sir, I will marry you.”

The joy of Wolfram’s acceptance to his proposal seemed to almost burst out of Yuuri. He pulled Wolfram into his arms, holding him tightly but careful of the curving belly. Just then a soft rumble there announced more pressing matters. And Yuuri pulled away chuckling, kissing Wolfram’s bare shoulder with a smile.

“I’ll go find you a snack.” He took Wolfram’s right hand in both of his, kissing it before leaving the room in haste.

~*~

Wolfram sat by the grand fireplace inside the ballroom. He lifted his left hand to the ceiling, smiling at the twinkling ring on his finger. And as he waited, he thought of Yuuri’s proposal. His words. They sounded so sincere that Wolfram quickly disposed of the candle holder in the fireplace—the item that held him back from accepting Yuuri’s love again. For he wanted to believe Yuuri profoundly changed. He did not want to believe Yuuri had lied to persuade the blonde to do as the man willed. Nay. He was so happy he did not want to dampen it with his own negative thoughts.

Footsteps reached his ears and Wolfram thought his King had returned, but Murata suddenly appeared at the corner of the ballroom. The sage’s presence left him silent and still for he had not seen much of the man for what seemed a long time since the day at the bath. Wolfram stood from the armchair and tentatively walked toward him.

Murata regarded the blonde prince—the sight of the prince’s golden hair and skin glowing with fertility, belly softly rounded made the message of lunch to forgo from his mind. _He looks so beautiful._

Murata took a small step toward the blonde Mazoku, taking a folded black article from his kimono sleeve and handing it to Wolfram.

“You left this in the bath that day,” Murata said tentatively. The prince’s eyes widened in recognition at Yuuri’s black blouse.

“I sure did,” Wolfram exclaimed, slightly embarrassed. “Thank you.”

It had been such a long time ago he had completely forgotten about it. He wanted to ask what happened between Murata and Yuuri since that awkward day, but he remained silent as he played with Yuuri’s shirt in his hands. His awkwardness did not go unnoticed.

“You’re upset,” Murata stated when the prince’s expression turned suddenly melancholic. “Why?”

Wolfram hesitated a bit before answering. “Since that day, the two of you have… not been the same. I don’t like it, especially knowing it was of fault of my own—”

“It wasn’t your fault. There were other things we argued about.” Murata comforted. “Though, he was fervent in his jealousy toward me over you.”

“Is that the truth?”

Wishing to ease Wolfram’s contemplative doubt, Murata said, “Bielefelt, let me tell you this. Shibuya has known heartbreak. He suffered because of it; drowned himself in loneliness. He closed his heart for what I feared would be forever. It is true he has a kind heart, but he is also a jealous and greedy man. More so now that he has you and has your love.”

Murata’s last words forced a blush in Wolfram’s face.

“But he hurt you.” Wolfram recalled Murata’s bruised cheek and more guilt settled on his features.

Murata chuckled softly. “Don’t look that way. Believe me, that was not our first scuffle.”

“I thought you were friends.”

Murata shook his head. “That was a long time ago. Now, I am under his employ and if I trespass under the King’s authority, he has every right to…” It was then Murata noticed the ring on Wolfram’s finger. “That ring…”

“His Majesty said this was a symbol of our union,” Wolfram said this lovingly.

“Yes.” Murata agreed. “In a previous life I recall people doing this with the ones they choose to commit their lives to.” _I did not think Shibuya remembered me telling him that from our youth…_

“People do this in the _other world_ you, and him, speak of at times?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly Wolfram’s arms came about him, the prince burying his face on Murata’s chest, muffling a sweet and gentle, “I missed you.”

 _As did I,_ Murata thought, not daring to say the words out loud. Still, he allowed Wolfram to hold him although he forced his own arms to lay still at his sides. Only when Wolfram pulled away did he ask, “May I?”

Wolfram nodded enthusiastically at Murata’s motion of his hand. He knew Murata felt the curve of his belly when he embraced the other. And the man startled a little when Wolfram took his hand and rested it over the belly, pressing lightly. Murata smiled at the feel of the baby bump.

“Congratulations,” he said softly, looking into the green of Wolfram’s eyes.

Wolfram looked up at him, smiling. “Thank you.”

They stayed that way, both regarding each other in the warm silence by the fire. Hands pressed together over the pregnant belly before—

“Ahem.”

The sudden voice was like an explosion in the ballroom. Wolfram jumped slightly and Murata, pulling his hand away, turned to face the stoic expression of someone he knew all too well.

“Shibuya,” Murata said in resigned voice.

The Maou’s eyes narrowed gently as he peered at Wolfram. The prince in turn bravely locked eyes with the King’s obsidian ones, his heart pounding wildly although he looked composed. He was so caught in the moment with Murata he was completely unaware of when Yuuri approached. How long has the King been standing there watching them?

It was the incident of the bath all over again. What would be the result this time?

Murata lowered his face, bowing. He and Shibuya had not talked and had avoided each other awkwardly since the day the King discovered him and Wolfram in the baths. Not wishing to evoke any more tension between them. And meeting like this again, well, it was another awkward moment, but then Yuuri spoke.

“Murata, will you join us for breakfast?”

Murata looked up, taken by surprise and Wolfram looked equally as shocked.

“I…don’t know…” Murata faltered, unsure on how to respond.

Yuuri took a step forward, taking Wolfram’s hand and pulling him gently at his side, smiling softly. “I insist. No. I _want_ you to. Please, you are welcome to join us in all our meals from now on. If you wish to.”

Murata stared at Yuuri’s apologetic expression for a moment before he smiled a little and nodded his head. “I…would be honored,” he managed, relieved.

Wolfram squeezed Yuuri’s hand, joy filling his heart at witnessing and knowing the men he had come to care for renew their friendship in front of his eyes. And he prayed to all saints it would stay this way.

Yuuri turned to Wolfram suddenly. “What do you think of a Christmas wedding?” Wolfram lifted his eyes in surprise. “It’s such a joyous time that I allow people from all over to celebrate the holiday at the castle. Though, if you prefer something less extravagant—”

“No, we must have _all_ our acquaintances!” The prince’s face positively glowed in sudden excitement. “There must be music and then there is the food to think about. I can make a guest list if you let me.”

Yuuri chuckled as Wolfram’s giddy anticipation. He wound his arms around the blonde’s waist, lifting him slightly and gently rolling him about the room in his arms. “I’ll let you do more than that. Anything you want it shall be as you say!”

“A Christmas wedding in a castle!” Wolfram’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “With garlands and carols and presents and—!”

“And plenty of dances.” Yuuri added. “You told me you loved to dance.”

“Very much.” Wolfram trapped Yuuri’s face between his palms, staring into the brown eyes of his husband-to-be. “And you’ll dance with me, sir?”

“I’ll dance with you, Wolf.”

“For how long?”

“Between now and forever.”

Murata turned away as the couple kissed. His apprentice, who had been quietly watching at a respectful distance, followed Murata as the man walked back to the castle. The lad asked, “I am happy for them, sir! Are you?”

Murata smiled. “Of course, I am.”

~*~

Wolfram craned his neck up, fluffing a white ruffle cloth on his collar. The evenings were getting chilly now that November weather was here. Life in Blood Pledge castle had settled into a blissful rhythm for King and prince. With early morning outings, afternoon frolics in the courtyard and late-night tousles in bed, Wolfram had never been happier. And even more so when Yuuri looked just as blissful when with him.

_I will wed him in less than a month!_

Wolfram was finally going to wed his king. He wanted to shout and scream it to the world. The conversation of their marriage and Yuuri’s proposal still ringing inside his head. Every morning since then made him feel reborn. He had even returned the magic jewel to Murata, so confident in Yuuri’s feelings for him that left no room for doubt.

“I have something for you, Wolf,” came Yuuri’s voice behind him. Wolfram smiled at his fiancée from the mirror, his eyes widening when they caught sight of a small velvet green box that Yuuri placed on his vanity desk.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to give you my gift first before the wedding presents began to pile up.”

Wolfram’s fingers were already eagerly undoing the gold ribbon but Yuuri’s hand over his stopped Wolfram from opening the box.

“Close your eyes, Wolf.”

Wolfram softly whined his impatience apparent, but he closed his eyes, nonetheless. The prince’s hand however remained over the box possessively, Yuuri chuckled at the sight. He knew well the blonde’s anticipation, for this was Yuuri’s first gift to his fiancée. And he knew Wolfram knew this as well. He leaned down, pressing his lips on Wolfram’s neck as he pulled out the item within. Wolfram’s fingers roaming all over the trinket, trying to distinguish what his eyes could not see.

“A surprise awaits, my love.” A kiss. “My pet.” Another kiss. “My Queen.”

Yuuri hooked the broach on Wolfram’s collar, settling it right in the middle with Wolfram’s fingers following his movements all the way. At Yuuri’s permission he opened his eyes and gasped at the round golden sight.

“They call it the universe broach,” Yuuri explained. “The amber jewel in the center represents our sun. The black stones around it represents the planets. And the smaller white diamonds around the edges twinkle like the stars above.”

“It’s stunning! So beautiful! A work of art!”

“Just like you.” He gave the prince a light peck on his lips before Wolfram stood and turned to look at him.

“But, sir, I haven’t gifted you anything yet.”

“You have already,” Yuuri said, his fingers tracing around the fullness of the belly. “ _You_ are _my_ gift…for all my life. My universe. Between now and forever.”

“Yes, yes,” Wolfram murmured again and again. His silken lips trembling in urgency as his arms went around his fiancée. Wolfram pulled away for a moment, heart pounding and eyes glittering with fevered lust. “I need you…”

“I’m all yours, pet,” the Maou said, his voice deep and breathless.

The need to possess crashed over both as they kissed. Sensual at first then more demanding, tongue clashing with tongue, separating their mouths and bodies just long enough to make the trip to their bed.

“Sir, hurry,” the prince whimpered.

Seeing Wolfram’s pull his kimono up to his hips and slide his underwear down, Yuuri pulled himself out with the same heated urgency.

His brown eyes changed pitch black, watching the prince’s every move as Wolfram threw a leg over the Maou’s thighs to perch on top of him on the bed; the prince’s hair falling like a veil around them. The weight of Wolfram and baby laying heavily upon his lap, reminding Yuuri how, as of late, the blonde craved sweet fruits and cakes and at dinner even asked for second helpings. Hence the loose kimonos the blonde wore daily.

Yuuri’s hand smoothed the curls over Wolfram’s shoulder, letting his hand glide down the blonde’s back until his fingers rubbed in between Wolfram’s buttocks.

Wolfram groaned at the sensation of Yuuri’s fingers pressing in as he held himself on his hands and knees. Wolfram could feel his fiancée’s heart beat strong and fast. Then, a warmth suddenly spread in the palm of Wolfram’s right hand. He lifted it as it gradually pulsing in such a strange way that the prince inquired, “What is that?”

Yuuri glanced at Wolfram’s soft orange-glowing hand.

“It’s your Maryoku,” Yuuri replied calmly. “It’s of fire energy. Mine is water.”

“Maryoku? Mine?”

“Once you accepted me as your life partner, my majutsu coursed your demon biology, awakening your own dormant powers.” Yuuri explained as Wolfram continued to stare at his glowing hand.

_My very own power…_

Wolfram froze just as Yuuri’s hot, hard cock poked at his entrance; staring into his human fiancée’s eyes as he lowered himself onto Yuuri’s thick cock, the girth of the length filling Wolfram completely, sliding painlessly. His head falling back as a long groan escaped him as he did. The sensation was like a burning torch, an almost painfully scalding heat, but deliciously pleasurable, as well. Once Wolfram felt the wiry curls of Yuuri’s bush against his bottom, he dipped his head forward. The Maou’s obsidian eyes were locked onto his green ones, staring into his soul.

Drawing a sharp breath, Wolfram sat up slightly and rolling his hips in a slow circle as he did. He moaned loudly, gasping as the shaft stretched him, filling him; reminded him of the first night Yuuri took him. And every other night since. He undid his kimono and spread the cloth, revealing his nakedness. The Maou watched him in reverence, silent and with a half-smile. And Wolfram was grateful the man did not move, letting Wolfram take his time accommodating himself over his King’s width and sudden penetration. But Wolfram could sense the man’s need, his quiet impatience. And he himself was at his limit.

He bounced gently over his King, meeting the Maou’s gentle thrusts with his own demanding movements, making their bed creak. Wolfram knew he was going to ache for the rest of day, but he did not care in the least. He had never experienced such passion with another man, and he knew he never would.

“Oh, my god,” Wolfram mewled into Yuuri’s ear. “Your cock…”

Maou nuzzled against his hand, pecking the inside of Wolfram’s wrist just as Yuuri’s voice came through. “Wolf, I don’t deserve you, but by God, I’m never letting you go.”

Emboldened, Wolfram increased his speed as Yuuri’s fervent words sent relief shimmering through his body. His rocking motion hard and intense, riding up and down, inside and out; waves of pleasure and animalistic groans bursting out of his King as he rode the man’s cock.

The Maou watched him hungrily, his pupils so dilated they turned his eyes from brown to ebony in turn.

“That’s it,” the Maou rasped, gripping Wolfram’s hardness. “Ruin yourself over me and come!”

“Oh, my King!” Wolfram whined needfully, over and over, chanting as he let his hips piston up and down Yuuri’s cock. Until all too quickly he screamed his orgasm, tightening like a vise on his king’s cock, making the other groan like an animal just as his King’s scalding seed overflowed deep within him. Wolfram shuddered uncontrollably, feeling Yuuri’s cock jerk inside before he slumped forward onto Yuuri chest. Letting the final quiver of his orgasm run through.

The Maou reached out to wipe the dampness from the blonde’s forehead with his fingers. They stayed still, their breathing slowly returning to normal, sharing lazy, drawling kisses before Wolfram fell limply over him.

“Are you all right?” Yuuri asked, breathless. Wolfram nodded, moving to pull out but Yuuri gripped his hips tight, keeping the prince in place. Wolfram thought his King was sated, but Yuuri’s eyes were still hot and burning with need and he chuckled softly.

“You are insatiable, sir.”

Careful of his curving belly, Yuuri laid Wolfram on his side. Despite his words, Wolfram found he liked taking a cock. Loved feeling Yuuri’s balls slapping his bottom. Loved it more feeling his king’s orgasm filling him to the brim, again and again.

Throwing Wolfram’s right leg over his hip, Yuuri leaned to whisper in his ear. “And you have more than enough stamina to keep up.”

Wolfram smiled knowingly, gasping softly when Yuuri’s cock rubbed his entrance again. He was just feeling him slide in again when as a tentative knock came upon the door.

“What is it?” the Maou snarled softly, irritated that their sweet bliss was interrupted. The muffled voice of Murata’s apprentice came through the door.

“There is an urgent matter downstairs that…needs your personal attention, your Highness.”

Wolfram and Yuuri hastened to put themselves back into respectable order. In a surprising tender gesture, the Maou helped Wolfram dress and settled him on the vanity chair. He left the blonde smoothing his hair in front of the mirror as he brisked to the door while fixing his pants and reaching for his black robe that he did not bother to close. And when he and the lad descended the stairs, Yuuri was surprised to see Alice waiting there below next to Murata. A very _pregnant_ Alice.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Maou asked Murata, narrowing his eyes at the woman. “Why is _she_ here?”

“Is it not obvious?” Alice countered before the Sage could reply, grazing a hand down her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

“And?” the Maou urged lamely.

The woman smiled. “The child is yours.”

To the shock of everyone there the King arched his neck in laughter. “You can’t expect me to believe this.”

“Of course it is yours!” Alice insisted. “I was your favorite—don’t you recall, your Majesty?”

The Maou sighed, irritably. “You were part of my harem, but you never once—"

“ _Shibuya_.”

The Maou followed Murata’s eyes to the top of the stairs. And the sight there stopped him cold. Yuuri’s brown eyes widened. “Wolfram!”

~*~

There was no reason to believe this, but the woman’s words slammed against Wolfram like hard grit, abrading his flesh and irritating his soul. He looked down at the bodies below him, hating already the words that he knew were going to come out of the pregnant girl.

He forced composure, although his heart pounded anxiously.

“Well, sir? What will you do?” Wolfram leaned over the railing, a hand under his chin and looking down at them from the top of the staircase. His voice loud and stoic. “I’m waiting to see how you resolve this problem.”

“Wolf—"

“Still waiting.”

In that moment Alice gave Wolfram a small corner smile so deceiving that Wolfram knew a lie was hidden beneath her words. Something within him quickly threatened to emerge—an anger so immense he had never felt before upon another person. Yet, he said not a word as the woman continued forth with her ruse.

“The child is the Maou’s,” Alice said affirmatively. “I’ll not leave.”

Knowing Wolfram was part of the audience and feeling his eyes on him, Yuuri cheeks grew warm. He felt vulnerable, and angry at being humiliated this way in front of Wolfram. “I didn’t touch you at all since Wolfram’s arrival and you know it!”

Alice snorted. “You’ll see once the child is born—I’ll not leave I say!”

“ _Kill_ her then, sir.”

Wolfram’s words froze everyone cold. Their faces utterly blank as they all looked up at the blonde Mazoku incredulously. When no response came from anyone Wolfram continued, slowly gliding down the stairs.

 _His eyes…_ Alice thought, backing away gradually toward the exit doors. The Mazoku’s green eyes had turned red and were fixated on Alice whose expression was now wide with fear. This pleased Wolfram greatly.

“No?” Wolfram mocked, smiling sardonically. And suddenly Alice’s ruse seemed completely flailed as Wolfram raised his right hand, glowing hot ember. “Then **_I_** will.”

There was no warning before Wolfram threw a ball of raging fire at Alice from where he stood. It angered him more when he saw Murata throw himself in time to take Alice out of harm’s way. Yet, in his blinding rage, Wolfram continued throwing burning hot blasts while descending the stairs fast as lightning, gown flowing behind him, and face burning coal red. In mere seconds, this woman had turned him into a monster. A jealous, monopolizing monster blinded by hate.

“Wolfram!” Yuuri cried, although his voice did not seem to reach the prince.

“Don’t wish to leave? Fine by me! Lying wench!” Wolfram cried. “Stay away from my husband!” 

“Wolfram, stop!” The prince wriggled in Yuuri’s sudden embrace, flaying his arms and legs, trying to get at Alice, like a raging beast being held back from attacking its prey. And in the chaos Yuuri noted the tears in Wolf eyes.

“I don’t want to see you here again! Yuuri is mine! Mine! Mine! _Mine!”_

“Oh, Wolf…” Yuuri smiled at Wolfram’s word, feeling his own eyes mist with tears at hearing Wolfram speak his name at last.

Wolfram watched Alice rush to the doors and almost tripped over the round pillow that slipped out beneath her skirts. Then Wolfram felt himself still. The figures before him all becoming a pounding glaze. Distorted. And he felt himself begin to fall, like a heavy sleep suddenly coming over him, but it didn’t feel frightening, this falling…

 **“** Wolfram? Oh, god! Wolf!” Yuuri caught the prince just as Wolfram fainted heavily in his arms. “Wolfram!”

~*~

Yuuri lay still, hearing nothing but the sound of his own raging heart. And seeing Wolfram so still on their bed, listening to the blonde’s soft yet hard breathing both saddened and panicked him to no end. He startled when Murata’s voice echoed gently beside him.

“Using his Maryoku so early and intensely at this stage of pregnancy…it left him in a coma.”

Yuuri turned his eyes, glazing wide and wet as he rose from Wolfram’s side in one lithe motion to look at Murata.

“Do something!” he demanded, shaking Murata by the collar. **“** Wake him up! Use your power!”

“I cannot do anything of the sort! No one can. He needs to fight this on his own!” Yuuri released Murata with a huff. **“** And that fever won’t make it any easier.”

No.

“Oh, Wolf…” Yuuri said, looking at sleeping Wolfram, and sniffling, his eyes glazing with coming tears. Giving Yuuri a soft consoling pat on his back, Murata left the room, equally saddened.

Yuuri lay next to comatose Wolfram for what seemed like hours, a hand over prince’s soft rounded belly, heart heavy and eyes filled with tears.

 _This is my punishment for putting him through all that pain and not loving him when I had the chance,_ the Maou thought.

Yuuri never thought he would say the words, but in his desperation and sadness he could not help it. “If you leave me, I’ll go with you, babe. I’ll got with _both_ of you, do you hear me? Now, having known you, I don’t think I can survive living without you.”

Wolfram blinked awake as if from a spell, blinking at the shadowed face sobbing on his chest. Realizing who it was, he said softly, “Yuuri?”

“Wolfram! Oh, god!” he gasped, his crushing weight coming over the other.

Wolfram patted his back weakly. It seemed like he had slept for a long while, and it felt good. Yuuri pulled away, looking down at him. His brown eyes were bloodshot and glossy. Wolfram could tell he had been worried, and it really touched him and was equally glad that he was here at his side. He was overcome with such joy, a small smile spread across his face.

“I missed you, Yuuri.” Wolfram confessed quietly.

“I missed you, too, Wolf. It feels good to hear you call me Yuuri again. Each time you called me ‘sir’ or ‘Your Majesty’, it was like a jab to my heart.”

“Yuuri, I…I need to confess something to you…”

“What?” Yuuri was still dazed and sniffling with tear-stained cheeks.

“I used a magic necklace, and I used its power to save the bathhouse, in exchange for changing me and hating you.”

“You did that?”

Wolfram nodded. “I wanted to be someone other than myself.” Wolfram said in slight regret. “The kind of person you would…desire.”

“Is that what all of that was about? You wanted revenge because I didn’t…” Yuuri seemed to choke on the words before he managed to speak again. “I do desire you, Wolf. I always have. I was a fool to never let it show before, but you must know that you mean more to me than anything in the whole world.” 

Wolfram nodded, his eyes misty. “I know that now. And I suppose my love for you never left because the truth is, I never once stopped loving you.” He blushed shyly at his sudden confession, the tears finally flowing.

“Wolfram…”

“Yuuri, _I love you_.” There. The words were out. “I truly love you.”

“For how long this time?” Yuuri sniffled teasingly, his heart soaring joyously as they embraced each other with such an intensity that even their hearts and souls shared in it.

“Between now and forever,” Wolfram replied, before cupping Yuuri’s wet face and kissing him deeply.

~*~

They were married on the first day of December.

Wolfram clutched his bouquet of white and red roses a bit nervously. The whole ceremony was a blur of joy. Wolfram’s heart raced, and his hand shook wildly when Yuuri slipped the ring onto his finger. Once pronounced married, Wolfram turned to his husband with such flood of happiness rushing from his heart he felt like it would burst.

The people applauded thunderously as the Maou kissed Wolfram, who flung his arms around his neck and returned the kiss wholeheartedly, not caring if the whole of the kingdom watched. Yuuri ended the kiss, laughing at Wolfram’s ardor, and they raced down the stairs onto their waiting carriage pulled by four white horses with plumes on their heads, and were in each other’s arms before the coach door had scarcely shut.

“Wolfie!”

Wolfram waved at his mother from the carriage, her eyes brimming with joyous tears, Wolfram’s brothers at her side along with Murata who looked genuinely happy for him, as well. He looked back at Yuuri beside him, just as the other squeezed his hand on his.

“Will you be happy here with me, Wolf?” Yuuri asked, almost uncertain but still with a warm smile.

“Of course, I will!” Wolfram reached up and cupped Yuuri’s cheek in the palm of his hand. “And what about you?”

“After meeting you, I have felt so many emotions that I long feared dead. I want you to know how important you are to me. I know now that I’ll never feel this way for another person.” Yuuri murmured, gazing deeply into the emerald eyes as he pulled the blonde prince into his arms. “We still have so much ahead of us… From now on, I want to experience many things with only you. See places you have yet to see. The two of us together.”

“The _three_ of us together, you mean.”

“Yes.” Brown eyes turned coal. The Maou’s hand grazed his thumb softly on the side Wolfram’s heavy belly, smiling. He leaned down, and whispered in Wolfram’s ear, his voice deep and full of longing. “My sweet, beautiful pet.”

The Demon King kissed Wolfram’s forehead and thought about life’s twists and turns. About fate and true love, something he thought he no longer believed in. Oh, but he was proved otherwise. If, he thought, Murata hadn’t obsessed over finding Yuuri a consort, his life would be different. Wolfram wouldn’t have been his, nor would the blonde be sitting next to him as his Queen. He twined his fingers on Wolfram’s braid that curved along his neck and lightly roamed his palm down Wolfram’s belly, wondering whether a son or daughter lay under his hand.

“I love you, Wolf,” he said meaningfully, with every fiber of his being.

Wolfram laid a hand on top of his. “We love you, too, Yuuri.” And as to close the final benediction he added, “ Between now and forever.”

_Finis._

_*_ **Author’s Note*** _Yes. After writing this story I was left wanting more between Murata, Wolfram, and Yuuri. I entertained the idea of what would have happened if I had let all three character be happy together in **that way**. And so, I will be indulging my curiosity on this, to appease my “what if” torment. Though I am already feeling nervous about writing a threesome story, you can all look forward to it in the future. Take care everyone and see you on the next one. _


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